. J726 
G 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


Shelf JSLaGt 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





















































































♦ 






* 




























i 











































• • 


























I 






















































































GODFREY BRENZ 


A TALE OF PERSECUTION 


/ 

By SARAH J. JONES 

Author of “None Other Name,” “Downward,” 
“Struggling Upward,” etc. 


“ If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you.” 



PHILADELPHIA ! 


! 73 2 2.-2 

THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL /UNION, 

1122 Chestnut Street. 


New York: 10 Bible House. 
1894. 


[Copyright, 1894, by the American Sunday-School Union.] 
























T 


-£1 






Ck 



































. 

* 

















INTRODUCTION. 


The spirit of persecution which pre- 
vailed during the sixteenth century is not 
dead; it is not even sleeping; it is only 
waiting; waiting for a return of the op- 
portunity which certain ones are unceas- 
ingly, untiringly laboring to bring about. 

Are we striving as diligently for the 
spread of Christ’s kingdom of peace; for 
purity and freedom to worship God as he 
is revealed to us in his holy word? 



































































TABLE OF CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. 



PAGE. 

I. 

The Body or the Soul ? . 



7 

II. 

Beware of the Inquisition, 



13 

III. 

Farewell, 



22 

IY. 

The Preparation of the Gospel of Peace, 

31 

V. 

Hans Schubert, 



39 

YI. 

The Empty Prison, 



46 

VII. 

The Triumph of Faith, . 



53 

VIII. 

Searching for Treasure, . 



60 

IX. 

For Christ’s Sake, . 



69 

X. 

Interrupted, . 



77 

XI. 

What is his Crime ? 



84 

XII. 

Entangled, 



90 

XIII. 

Beubel Castle, 



97 

XIV. 

Donald Grant, 



104 

XV. 

Fire and Sword, 



110 

XVI. 

Unanswered Questionings, 



118 

XVII. 

An Unwelcome Visitor, . 



125 

XVIII. 

Songs in the Night, 



131 

XIX. 

Without the Gates, 



138 

XX. 

A Treacherous Host, 



148 

XXI. 

How was I to Ken ? 



157 

XXII. 

Betrayed, 



168 

XXIII. 

The Honest Hour, . 



176 

XXIV. 

The Little Duchess, 



186 

XXV. 

The Last Confession, 



193 

XXVI. 

Unto Death, . 


(v) 

201 











Godfrey Brenz. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE BODY OR THE SOUL? 


“But all these things will they do unto you for my 
name’s sake.” 


HE bell of the Heilberg monastery 



-L was tolling as if for the dead. The 
prior had ordered this sign of mourning, 
more emphatically to proclaim his abhor- 
rence of the fact that two of his monks 
had embraced the opinion that the word of 
God is superior to human tradition ; that 
divine power is conveyed not alone through 
the rites and superstitions of priestly rule. 

The youthful “heretics,” as they were 
called, had been banished to the convent 
prison, under the sentence of remaining 
there, without food or drink, until they 
should retract their “errors,” or until a' 
more severe penalty should be passed 


8 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


upon them. The names of the two were 
Godfrey Brenz and Reynold Weihl. They 
both started, and, in the dim light, looked 
into each other’s faces as the mournful 
sound of the tolling bell reached their 
ears. 

“The death knell!” exclaimed Reynold, 
with a shudder. 

“Courage,” responded his companion. 
“If we are even to die for the truth let 
us not falter. It is not our cause, but 
his who has said, ‘Whosoever will save 
his life shall lose it; but whosoever will 
lose his life for my sake, the same shall 
save it.’” 

It was now the second day since the 
two young men had been thrust into the 
dark, damp chamber, from which they 
saw no way of escape save by retraction, 
and, to one of them at least, retraction 
meant eternal death. 

“Yet it is said that the good friar 
Probst, of the Augustine Convent at 
Antwerp, has recanted,” argued Reynold, 
still trembling. 

“So Peter once denied his Lord under 


THE BODY OR THE SOUL? g 

the stress of cowardly fear,” answered 
Godfrey, “and I make no doubt that friar 
Probst will soon be brought to weep as 
bitterly over his fall. If not,” he added, 
solemnly, “alas for his hereafter!” 

There was a short interval of silence, 
broken only by the slow, mournful knell 
of the convent bell. Reynold gave a 
little start of terror as each new stroke 
fell on his ear. 

Godfrey presently roused himself, and 
grasping his fellow prisoner’s hand, said, 
earnestly and firmly: 

“Let us think of what the Christ himself 
has spoken for the help of just such as 
we are: ‘And I say unto you my friends, 
Be not afraid of them that kill the body, 
and after that have no more that they 
can do. But I will forewarn you whom 
ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he 
hath killed hath power to cast into hell; 
yea, I say unto you, Fear him.’” 

“True, true,” assented the other; “say 
it over again, brother Godfrey. Thou art 
stronger than I, let me lean on thee.” 

“Nay,” replied Godfrey, at the same 


IO 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


time tenderly supporting his weak and 
trembling friend, “nay, my brother, place 
no dependence upon mortal man who 
may fail thee in the hour of need; but 
lean upon the arm that holds up the 
universe; so shalt thou never be moved. 
Thou who didst first find the light, let 
not darkness overwhelm thee; look up 
and trust to the Omnipotent.” 

The conversation was interrupted by 
the entrance of the prior, who, hoping 
something from the gloomy association 
of the tolling bell, now asked them, stern- 
ly, if they were ready to retract and re- 
turn to truth and duty. 

Reynold remained silent, but his com- 
panion soon proved that he was in no 
wise intimidated. He answered, respect- 
fully but unwaveringly : 

“How can we retract?” he asked, “when 
to retract means to deny the Lord who 
has bought us?” 

“You are ignorant, you are ignorant,” 
urged the prior, “you do not understand 
what you are saying. How should young 
monks like you know more about the 


THE BODY OR THE SOUL? 1 1 

way of salvation than his holiness the 
pope, the bishops, or even the lower 
clergy of the church? Submit yourselves 
to those who are in authority over you, 
and save yourselves and your convent 
from trouble and disgrace. You know 
nothing, nothing. Be humble and obedi- 
ent, my sons,” he concluded, with an at- 
tempt at fatherliness. 

Reynold still maintained a timid silence, 
but Godfrey answered, intrepidly : 

‘“One thing I know, that whereas I 
was blind, now I see.' ” 

“You have been led into error by read- 
ing impious and dangerous books. Prom- 
ise to shun them in the future; retract 
your statement that none but God can for- 
give sin ; return to the duties of your con- 
vent and all will be well,” urged the prior. 

“We have read no book but the word 
of God, and we cannot deny his truth,” 
was Godfrey’s firm reply. 

“I denounce you as hopelessly contu- 
macious and a fit subject for the inquisi- 
tor’s torture-chamber, or the stake itself!” 
the prior angrily retorted. 


12 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


“And what have you to say?” he de- 
manded, turning to the hitherto silent 
Reynold. 

“Oh, father!” gasped the terrified monk, 
“give me a little more time — give me 
until to-morrow, at least, to decide.” 

“It is well,” answered the prior. “Take 
heed how you decide,” he concluded, 
threateningly. 

He passed out of the cell, and the key 
turned gratingly in the lock behind him. 


CHAPTER II. 


BEWARE OF THE INQUISITION. 

“ He that loveth his life shall lose it ; and he that hateth 
his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.” 

T HE day waned slowly away. Twilight 
fell down over the convent, and the 
lights twinkled out in the town near by, 
and then, as the hours wore on, died 
away one by one, and all was darkness. 
Even the stars were hidden by clouds, 
and to those not immured in a gloomy 
dungeon the night was blackness, but 
the darkness of the convent prison seemed 
a darkness that could almost be felt by 
the two, who, weary and weak as they 
were with fasting, slept but little as the 
slow hours wore on. 

Godfrey thought of Peter and his an- 
gel rescuer from a fate like that which 
seemed to stare himself and his com- 
panion in the face. But no angel came 
to open the door and bid them come 

( 13 ) 


H 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


forth free. Yet, as the time passed on, 
a sense of security, of peace and safety 
seemed to fall like a benediction upon 
the soul of the young monk, as he re- 
flected that he too was suffering imprison- 
ment for the Master’s sake, and that the 
resources of heaven are never exhausted. 

He listened for a little while to the 
regular breathing of the tired Reynold, 
who had finally fallen asleep; then he 
rose to his feet and groped noiselessly 
along the wall, feeling, somehow, as if 
called to action. He felt his way around 
and around the narrow apartment, uncon- 
scious of the object of his movements, 
yet feeling strangely impelled to continue 
his contracted march. 

The stones were cold and damp to 
the touch, and the darkness seemed to 
deepen before his straining eyes, as still 
round and round he went. 

Suddenly he seemed to feel, rather 
than hear, a stroke upon the wall, suc- 
ceeded by another and still another, and 
he who had been firm and calm in the 
presence of the one who talked of the 


BEWARE OF THE INQUISITION. 1 5 

torture-chamber and the stake, now found 
himself trembling as he heard, or rather 
felt, the blows upon the wall, which might 
mean rescue. 

The thought passed through his mind 
that God is not restricted to angelic liber- 
ators, great and mighty as they are, for 
his purposes, when he chooses to make 
use of them. Mortal man may accomplish 
his will, however weak and feeble he may 
be when unaided by divine strength. 

The prisoner waited with what patience 
he could summon, the slow, steady blows 
that seemed to make but little impression 
beyond the faint jar that was communi- 
cated to the hand still pressed against 
the slimy stone? Presently the strokes, 
or the sensation, ceased. Was the cap- 
tive mistaken altogether? Was his im- 
agination, heightened by fasting, excite- 
ment and weariness, running away with 
his judgment? Were his impressions 
playing him false? Was he mistaking 
the pulsations of his own heart for the 
beating of some one against the outside 
of his prison walls? 


1 6 GODFREY BRENZ. 

He waited almost breathlessly; he 
pressed his hands against the cold stones 
until the chill seemed to penetrate every 
portion of his frame, and he trembled 
violently. But the sound, or sensation, 
had certainly ceased. A little while be- 
fore, he had felt that he could die for 
the truth, but later, he had been impressed 
with the thought that he was to live to 
make that truth known to others; that 
God had chosen him as an instrument for 
the promulgation of his word. Was his 
premonition but the freak of distracted 
nerves, of a disordered brain? 

The silence grew more and more op- 
pressive. He could hear his own heart 
beat plainly now. He felt a painful long- 
ing to speak to some one, to hear some 
one speak to him. He had the half 
formed thought of rousing up his tim- 
orous companion for the sake of his 
company, and then the reflection came 
that Reynold was forgetting his hunger 
and terror in the sleep which had been 
given him. However, if such was the 
case, his oblivion was not of long con- 


BEWARE OF THE INQUISITION. 1 7 

tinuance, for he presently started up, ex- 
claiming : 

“Ah! pray, give me a little more 
time !” 

When fully awake, he felt about for his 
fellow captive, and finding himself appar- 
ently alone, he called out, in a frightened 
tone : 

“Godfrey! brother Godfrey! Where 
art thou?” 

“Here,” answered Godfrey, and Rey- 
nold made his way to the spot, guided by 
his voice. He grasped his friend’s arm 
with shaking hands. 

“I dreamed that we were being led 
out to — ah! what is that?” he interrupted 
himself to ask, excitedly. 

The worker outside, recovered from 
fatigue, had recommenced the intermitted 
labor, and the sound of the strokes was 
unmistakable. Not many minutes had 
elapsed, though it seemed longer to the 
two who awaited deliverance, when a 
current of air, pouring into the cell, as- 
sured them that an aperture, however 
small, had been effected. 

2 


i8 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


A little later, a voice was heard, ask- 
ing, cautiously: 

“In the name of truth, is any one 
within?” 

“Ay, two of us, prisoners for the truth’s 
sake,” answered Godfrey. 

“Then if you would be free, push with 
all your might against this stone,” tapping 
against it. “There is a slight displacement 
on account of the hillside having slipped 
away from the wall, and I have further 
loosened the stones. Put to your strength.” 

The united strength of the two was 
speedily brought to bear upon the block 
of stone indicated, but their united strength 
was small, and the effort seemed utterly 
futile. Again and again they tried to 
move the mass that shut them in from 
freedom. Their unknown friend resumed 
work on the outside of the wall, but no 
result was apparent, except a faint streak 
of light coming through the small open- 
ing, which warned them of the approach 
of day, and of the hopelessness of escape, 
should it overtake them before their effort 
should succeed. 


BEWARE OF THE INQUISITION. 


19 


Tired out at last with a struggle which 
seemed to be unavailing, the two unhappy 
youths were nearly ready to cease their 
striving, when suddenly a sensation as if 
some part of the wall had given way on 
the outer side, was followed by the sound 
of a suppressed groan. 

“Alas !” exclaimed Reynold, “we have 
perhaps killed our rescuer.” 

“I am much afraid that we have at least 
injured him,” answered Godfrey. “It is 
plain that we must desist.” 

“Not so,” responded the voice outside, 
with a brave ring, despite the little quiver 
of pain which accompanied it. “ My in- 
jury is but trifling, and I will take myself 
out of the way, lest another stone fall on 
me. Work for your lives, and when you 
are free, hasten to seek a place of safety. 
The country is being scoured by servants 
of the inquisitors, for the recapture of 
Voes, Esch, and Lambert. Beware of the 
Inquisition. There is no more that I can 
do for you.” 

The voice ceased, and after waiting a 
moment the prisoners redoubled their 


20 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


efforts. Weariness was forgotten, and it 
was not long before the moving of the 
stone was distinctly perceptible to the two 
to whom it meant so much. Little by little 
they forced it from its position in the mass 
of masonry, and then suddenly it toppled 
from its place, and the glow of the east- 
ern sky broke upon the sight of the pair, 
who hailed it with a joy which liberated 
captives only can know. 

One by one the two monks forced their 
way through the narrow opening ; first 
Reynold, and then Godfrey. Each in 
turn, as he emerged from the prison, 
looked about for a sight of the one who 
had been the instrument of their release; 
but no one was to be seen, save a woman 
some distance away, slowly driving the 
cows home to the milking. She walked 
with a staff, as if very old and feeble, and 
did not appear to notice the escape ; but 
the two lately liberated men chose another 
direction for their flight. 

“She may be a friend, or she may be 
a foe,” remarked Godfrey. “We will run 
no risks after so remarkable a deliverance. 


BEWARE OF THE INQUISITION. 


21 


But I would have liked much to see and 
thank our deliverer of the gentle voice 
and the strong arm.” 

“May God bless and keep him, who- 
ever he may be,” responded Reynold, 
fervently. 


CHAPTER III. 


FAREWELL. 

“ Heaven and earth shall pass away : but my words shall 
not pass away.” 

W HILE the light of truth had been 
gradually and faintly dawning in 
the Franciscan Monastery at Heilberg, it 
was shining with greater power in other 
convents, notably that of the Augustines 
at Antwerp. Though the prior had been 
arrested, and, with the fear of man before 
his eyes, had in his surprise and alarm re- 
tracted, those who were left behind, as if 
imbued with courage from on high, con- 
tinued to hold fast, and preach the doctrine 
of salvation by the grace of God. Crowds 
collected in the church of the Augustines 
to receive the bread of life thus freely 
offered to them, until the attendance grew 
so large that many were unable to gain 
admittance. The preaching went on until 
stopped by force. Some of the laborers 
( 22 ) 


FAREWELL. 


23 


were imprisoned, and others compelled to 
flee for their lives. 

Yet the light of truth was not quenched. 
In spite of the fact that the New Testa- 
ment in the vulgar tongue was strictly 
prohibited, and many copies had been 
seized by the priests and magistrates, and 
committed to the flames, the word of God 
still spread. The precious volume which 
had brought peace aind comfort to hearts 
long groping in darkness, was kept hid- 
den like gold or gems, and cherished as 
the true source of wealth. 

The Inquisition had extorted a recanta- 
tion from one who had most zealously 
sowed the truth broadcast; but it could 
not prevent the growth of the heaven- 
nurtured seed; and in face of the fact 
that torture and death were threatened, 
the believers in God’s word multiplied day 
by day. So long compelled to feed upon 
the empty husks of human tradition, of 
rites and ceremonies that in themselves 
separated between them and the Saviour 
of sinners; depending on the merits of 
creatures who could not save themselves ; 


24 


GODFREY BRENZ . 


with consciences burdened with sin which 
no priestly absolution could remove ; when 
the truth came to them it was welcomed 
as the father’s feast to the starving prodi- 
gal ; it was grasped as the strong rope let 
down to the drowning who had lately been 
struggling to save themselves, or grasping 
at the straws of finite aid. 

But if the truth was thus gaining ground, 
the powers of evil were marshalling their 
forces with redoubled diligence to stem 
the tide which, unchecked, meant a sweep- 
ing away of power and wealth maintained 
through the subordination of the souls and 
bodies of the people. The truth must not 
be permitted to fall undimmed upon the 
eyes of the masses. The word of God 
meant light and liberty; and so a relent- 
less persecution was commenced, a per- 
secution which included alike the prop- 
agators and receivers of the doctrine of 
grace. 

The names of Aleandro and Glapio, of 
Egmondanus and Hochstraten, were to 
the followers of Christ as the names of 
wild beasts, whose mission is to tear 


FAREWELL. 


25 


and devour the helpless. Yet, standing 
bold and firm against the sad picture of 
the fall of some, weakened and intim- 
idated by the enemies of the gospel, are 
the bright examples of many others who 
chose to endure torture and even death 
rather than to renounce the truth; count- 
ing it joy to suffer for the sake of the 
Lord Jesus Christ. 

It was a perilous time for the two refu- 
gees from the Heilberg convent. While 
there were many who would willingly 
have harbored and protected them, even 
at the risk of their own lives, the two 
monks were unable to distinguish between 
the friends of Christ and the friends of 
Rome, and one' false step would have 
speedily destroyed the liberty which they 
had lately attained, assisted by their un- 
known friend. 

It was now the third day since they had 
taken food, and the pains of hunger were 
felt by both, but especially by Reynold, 
whose physical as well as mental strength 
was inferior to that of his companion. 

As they neared a cottage by the way- 


26 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


side he announced his intention of calling 
for something to eat, regardless of the 
risk of pausing so near the place of their 
late imprisonment. 

“My brother, I pray thee hold out a 
little longer,” protested Godfrey. “A few 
hours more will bring us to my mother’s 
house where we shall find food, and safety 
for at least a short interval of rest.” 

“Do you go on,” answered Reynold. 
“ I can go no further till I break my fast.” 

Godfrey hesitated for a moment. 

“It is perhaps better that we should 
separate,” he said, “yet I like not to leave 
thee, my brother. God bless and keep 
thee. Trust in him. Be prudent, but, 
oh, above all things be true ! Thou didst 
first show me the way of life, and I shall 
remember thee. Farewell.” 

There was a clasp of the hand, and so 
they parted. There is a solemnity in 
every farewell, but in times like those 
of which our story tells, a parting often 
meant a final separation on earth, or a 
reuniting at the Auto da fe! 

So Godfrey went on his way, and his 


FAREWELL. 27 

late companion knocked at the door of 
the cottage. 

A woman came to answer the sum- 
mons, with a lock of wool in her hand, her 
busy fingers manipulating it industriously, 
while she looked questioningly at the 
monk who stood before her. 

“My good woman, I ask a brief shelter 
and a morsel of food, for the love of God,” 
said Reynold. His evident weakness 
and weariness seemed to appeal to the 
woman’s sympathy. 

“Be pleased to enter,” she said; “I 
have not much to offer, but to such as it 
is, thou art welcome. We are hard work- 
ing people who live upon the fruits of our 
own labor,” she added, and Reynold felt the 
remark as a reflection upon the idle, beg- 
garly existence which he had lately known. 

“I desire to enter upon the same kind 
of a life,” he said, humbly. “I first be- 
came a monk in order to save my soul. 

I have just left the monastery with the 
same end in view. I have learned that 
Christ saves us freely without works or 
merits of our own.” 


28 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


The hostess looked at him keenly for a 
moment as if debating in her mind whether 
he were sincere or only trying to lay a 
snare for her feet. Seemingly satisfied 
with the result of her scrutiny she said 
heartily : 

“Then thou art doubly welcome in 
God’s name.” 

Producing a jug of milk and a snowy 
loaf, with cup and plate, she sliced the 
bread, liberally, and invited him to par- 
take. 

The poor monk seated himself at the 
table eagerly, and ate almost ravenously 
until the keenness of his hunger was 
abated, while the woman sat down by the 
big heap of wool in the corner of the 
room and continued her work, glancing 
now and then from the window near by. 

“The soldiers from Mentz have been 
in the neighborhood, of late,” she said, 
speaking as if to herself, “and I mistrust 
me they are not far away even now.” 

As if in answer to her apprehensions, a 
man came into view a little later, ascend- 
ing the slope on which the cottage stood. 


FAREWELL. 


2 9 


“Hist, they are coming indeed!” ex- 
claimed the woman, in a low, warning 
tone. “Art thou in danger of arrest?” 

The instant pallor of Reynold’s face 
answered her before he could speak. 

“Quick, quick!” she said; “come here 
and lie down !” 

The frightened man obeyed unquestion- 
ingly, and the woman piled the fleecy 
covering above and around him, and then 
seated herself hurriedly in the chair from 
which he had just arisen. 

In another instant the door was opened, 
and a soldier entered without ceremony. 

“Thou dost break thy fast late,” he ob- 
served, looking around the room as he 
spoke. “Hast thou been abroad in the 
night attending heretical gatherings?” 

“Not I,” answered the woman. “I spend 
my nights in sleep, at home ; but appetite 
is a very good guide to the table, I hold. 
Wilt thou join me in a cup of milk and a slice 
of bread, since that is the best I can offer?” 

“Nay,” replied the soldier, surlily. “I 
am on the tracks of some heretics; hast 
thou any hidden about the premises ? h 


30 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


The woman laughed, as if the idea 
were amusing. 

“Thou canst see for thyself,” she an- 
swered, “unless indeed it be that heretics 
are invisible creatures.” 

The man gave her another surly glance, 
and then opened the doors of the cup- 
board and looked within, the woman watch- 
ing him with an undisturbed countenance, 
but inwardly praying fervently that the 
fugitive monk’s small, slight form might 
escape notice under the heap of wool. 

Walking close by the spot where the 
trembling man lay concealed, the soldier 
thrust his sword into the snowy mass, 
just grazing the cheek of the terrified 
one, who momently expected another 
thrust which should transfix him. But the 
searcher was apparently satisfied with his 
investigation, and contenting himself with 
saying, grimly, “If thou dost think that 
heretics are invisible, just wait until we 
have caught a few of them, and thou wilt 
see what a fine bonfire can be made of 
them,” he left the house as informally as 
he had come. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE PREPARATION OF THE GOSPEL OF PEACE. 
“ But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost.” 

T HE persecution of “heretics” was in- 
deed going forward relentlessly. Rome 
was sparing no pains to try to compel men 
to submit to her decrees, to conform to her 
requirements, and to believe unquestion- 
ingly all that ignorant priests — themselves 
often grossly immoral, and caring only for 
self-indulgence and gain — might tell them 
to believe. 

Multitudes lay in the fetters of a bond- 
age which enslaved both soul and body, 
forbidden under severe penalty even to 
seek for emancipation. Christ had said, 
“If the Son therefore shall make you free, 
ye shall be free indeed;” and “The Son 
of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, 
but to save them .” Rome imprisoned 
men for conscience’s sake, and called 
loudly for bloodshed and burning. 

( 31 ) 


32 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


But while men, claiming to be commis- 
sioned by God himself, were thus tramp- 
ling underfoot all rights, human and divine, 
the word of God was silently making its 
influence felt like the sun which gives light 
and warmth without violence and without 
noise. Wherever it found its way, he 
verified his promise, that it should not re- 
turn unto him void. It wrought a trans- 
formation that surprised its enemies, and 
aroused them to renewed hostility. But 
wisdom is ever justified of her children, as 
our Saviour said. The wide difference 
displayed by the partisans of popery and 
the advocates of the gospel could not fail 
to be apparent to the thoughtful. 

The great German reformer, zealously 
combating all ideas of compulsion or con- 
straint in matters pertaining to religion, 
proclaimed : 

“Our first object must be to win men’s 
hearts, and for that purpose we must 
preach the gospel. I would constrain 
none, for faith is a voluntary act. Faith 
consists in a firm belief that Jesus Christ 
is the Son of God; that having taken 


THE GOSPEL OF PEACE, 33 

our sins and iniquities upon himself, he 
having borne them on the cross, is their 
sole and almighty atonement ; that he 
stands continually before God ; that he 
reconcileth us with the Father/' 

Comparing these utterances with the 
printed word circulating among all classes, 
many dared to believe for themselves, in 
defiance of those rulers who sought to 
uphold the power of Rome. The fanat- 
ical Duke George declared of the Ger- 
man New Testament: 

“Even after my prohibition, many thou- 
sands of copies were sold and read in 
my states!" 

The conquests of the gospel, however, 
were not confined to the lowly. The 
truth penetrated to the castles of the 
great, and there were some who learned 
that Christ is Lord of all, and realized 
that the highest happiness is to follow him 
with the meekness and humility of little 
children. 

Two pious monks, converted by the 
study of the New Testament, and yearn- 
ing to bring others to the source of peace 
3 


34 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


and comfort, were boldly preaching the 
gospel at Freiberg, where stood the castle 
of Duke George’s brother Henry. 

The duchess, noted for her piety and 
her horror of heresy, was wont to reproach 
a young lady of her court for her attend- 
ance upon the preaching of the monks, 
who, as she said, were “renegades from 
the holy mother church.” 

“How canst thou listen to this brother 
Godfrey and his colleague?” she asked 
one morning, severely. “Know that thou 
art encouraging attendance upon their 
preaching by thy presence.” 

“My dear duchess,” answered her 
friend, “thou art a princess of Mecklin- 
burg. Thou art entitled to all respect 
because of thy birth and position. Thou 
art entitled to more because of thine own 
personal worth of character. Thou art a 
lady of piety and devotion to thy hus- 
band and son. Thou art a true friend, 
and I prize thy friendship more highly 
than thou thyself knowest; but at the 
risk of seeming disrespectful, at the risk 
of offending your highness, I beg of thee 


THE GOSPEL OF PEACE. 


35 


not only not to oppose my attendance 
upon the preaching of these monks, but 
to hear them thyself and be convinced 
that they are speaking the words of 
Christ. It has been said, alas, how truly, 
‘Not many mighty, not many noble are 
called.’ ” 

There were tears in the speaker’s eyes 
as she thus appealed to her friend, and 
the duchess, hesitating only for a moment, 
replied, not unkindly : 

“Well, my dear Cornelia, I will even 
humor thy fancy, and hear these men 
for myself; but expect not me to be con- 
vinced by the harangues of heretics.” 

When the duke heard of her intention, 
he offered but faint opposition. Though 
imbued to some extent with sentiments 
which went for piety among the great, 
he cared more for pleasure and the grati- 
fication of his appetite than for the con- 
cerns of the soul, whether his own or 
others. 

“Well, hear these monks if thou wilt,” 
he said, carelessly, “but encourage them 
not with gold or silver; nor thou, cousin,” 


36 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


he added, addressing the duchess’ com- 
panion. “I have not much faith in these 
priests, though I stand by the church and 
religion. Look not incredulous,” he went 
on, “know thou, I have even gone to the 
Holy Land, and made a pilgrimage to 
the shrine of Saint Iago of Compostella. 
I placed a hundred golden florins on the 
altar of the saint, and said to him, ‘O 
Saint Iago, to please thee I came hither. 
I make thee a present of this money, but 
if these knaves (the priests) take it from 
thee, I cannot help it, so be on thy guard.’ ” 

The duchess, who had heard the story 
before, was meanwhile caressing her little 
Maurice, a lovely child about a year old, 
and breathing a silent prayer to the vir- 
gin, that he should grow up to become 
as pious a man as his father, but more 
reverential, for the gentle lady was some- 
what shocked by the duke’s open avowal 
of his lack of faith in the clergy. A far 
more powerful One than the virgin, even 
God himself, would one day set this same 
child for the rise of many in Christendom. 

But to return to the duchess and her 


THE GOSPEL OF PEACE. 


37 


friend. They went to the church together 
on the following day. “Brother Godfrey,” 
as he was called, — no less a person than 
the faithful monk, who, with his com- 
panion, had evaded the toils of the in- 
quisitors by escaping from the convent 
prison at Heilberg, — preached a plain 
and earnest sermon from the words of 
Christ, “Ye will not come to me that ye 
might have life.” Pathetic complaint, ap- 
plicable then and now, as in the days when 
it was spoken, that men are wont to turn 
aside, in their search for life, to creature 
agencies, to human devices, to broken 
cisterns, while the Saviour himself stands 
waiting to give the water of life freely to 
all who will but come to him ! 

The duchess, who had gone to church 
merely to gratify what she considered the 
whim of another, listened in astonishment. 
Was this loving message of a gracious 
Redeemer the doctrine which she had 
ever been taught to hate and fear? Was 
this the “heresy” which the pope and all 
his agents were struggling to subdue? 

She returned to the castle, silent and 


38 GODFREY BRENZ. 

thoughtful, a conflict waging in her mind 
between preconceived error and new- 
found truth. 

The work went on. The duke for some 
time paid little attention to the fact that 
the proscribed doctrine of salvation by 
grace was being proclaimed in the church 
at Freiberg, and the duchess, continuing 
her attendance upon the word, found rest 
for her soul in believing. She read and 
studied the New Testament in company 
with the friend who had first persuaded 
her to hear the gospel, and longed that 
all Germany and the world might be 
brought under its power. 


CHAPTER V. 


HANS SCHUBERT. 

“ I was a stranger, and ye took me in.” 

T HE colleague of Godfrey Brenz in 
his work at Freiberg, was not Rey- 
nold Weihl, but a pious Augustine monk, 
a disciple of Luther, whom he had met 
in his exile. His companion in the flight 
from the convent had fared far other- 
wise. 

As the soldier who had searched her 
house disappeared from sight, the woman 
who had hidden the fugitive, hastened to 
inform him of the fact. Her now grave 
face was very different from the care- 
lessly smiling countenance which she had 
assumed while the searcher was present. 

“At the risk of seeming inhospitable, 
I must now warn you to seek another 
place of shelter,” she said. The monk 
arose to his feet and walked a few steps ; 

( 39 ) 


40 


GODFREY BRENZL 


then he placed his hand on his wounded 
cheek, and looking at the blood in his 
palm, sat down sick and faint, although 
the injury was but trifling. 

“If I could but stay until I am a little 
stronger,” he gasped, faintly. 

His benefactress did not immediately 
reply to this appeal. She brought a basin 
of water and a towel, and washed the 
wound carefully, assuring herself and him 
that it was scarcely more than an abra- 
sion of the skin. When he appeared 
somewhat revived, she said : 

“It is not that I fear trouble for shel- 
tering one of God’s persecuted ones, but 
the good man will be home betimes, and 
I cannot be sure that he will not report 
thee to thine enemies.” 

At these words Reynold again started 
to his feet, but the next moment he 
swayed, and fell heavily to the floor. 
The woman’s face was scarcely less pale 
than his own, but she promptly busied 
herself to restore him, bathing his fore- 
head and chafing his hands. After an 
interval the young man opened his eyes 


HANS SCHUBERT. 4 1 

and fixed them, full of terror, upon her 
face. 

“Be not afraid,” she said, in a motherly 
tone. “Hans Schubert may be a strong 
papist, and mistaken in his zeal for what 
he deems the true church, but he is of a 
kinder heart than to betray the sick and 
helpless. I guarantee thee such protec- 
tion as we are able to give. Thou mayest 
rest in peace.” 

She brought a pillow for his head, and 
covered him lightly; and the tired wan- 
derer, in spite of his fears, was soon 
asleep. It was not long before the 
expected Hans Schubert arrived. He 
opened the door and came in much less 
noisily than the soldier had done, and 
the weary monk was not awakened by 
his entrance. 

“Whom have we here, Adela?” he 
asked, glancing at the sleeper. Adela 
Schubert came forward softly, and laying 
her hand confidently on her husband’s 
arm, told him in a low tone so much of 
Reynold’s story as she knew. 

“He is sick and weak, and thou seest, 


42 GODFREY BRENZ. 

Hans, he is but a youth; shall we not 
care for him until he is able to go on 
his way?” she concluded, coaxingly. 

“Have thy will,” responded the man, 
a little gruffly, yet laying his rough hand 
on the one resting upon his arm. “These 
are troublous times, and I like not the 
idea of harboring a heretic, but I would 
not wish to be the first of my name to 
turn an ailing stranger out of doors.” 

The sick man moved once or twice 
uneasily, and then started up, exclaim- 
ing: 

“Ah! grant me one more day, I am 
weak and fearful, yet I know not how 
to deny my Lord, and peril my soul, to 
escape torture.” 

Bright spots glowed in his pale face, 
and his eyes shone unnaturally. It was 
plain that he was in the grasp of fever. 

The kind-hearted couple speedily got 
him into bed, and began such treatment 
as their knowledge, limited as it was, 
suggested. From time to time the suf- 
ferer, in his delirium, begged for respite 
from the inquisitors, into whose hands he 


HANS SCHUBERT. 


43 


imagined he had fallen. Then again and 
again he exclaimed: 

“O Christ, my Saviour, let me not sin 
against thee to save my worthless life. 
Thou, who didst give thyself for me, 
make me willing to die for thy sake.” 

Anon he would repeat passages from 
the book which had brought him out of 
darkness of ignorance and idolatry, of 
saint and image worship, to a knowledge 
of the true and only Saviour of sinners. 

Adela Schubert listened intently. She 
had never possessed a copy of the word 
of God, but she had a friend who owned 
the German New Testament, and the two 
neighbors often studied it together se- 
cretly, eagerly drinking in the truth so 
long denied them. But the homes of the 
two seekers after truth lay at some dis- 
tance apart, and Adela had often longed 
for a Bible of her own, that she might 
read it daily. There were no conceal- 
ments practised in the home of Hans 
Schubert and his wife. They talked free- 
ly together of the things which were so 
deeply stirring the minds of the people 


44 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


of Germany; but Adela grieved and 
prayed over the fact that her husband 
still clung to the errors which were so 
plainly errors to her, now that she had 
found the light which reveals all hidden 
evil. 

“Nay, my Adela,” he would say, “be 
not thou wiser than father Philip. He 
denounces the book as evil and only evil, 
and it is said that Duke George has 
ordered that all the copies found in his 
states shall be gathered together and 
burned. Stick to thy crucifix and Ave 
Maria , and may the holy virgin save 
thee from growing into a heretic!” 

To-day he ate his frugal dinner in si- 
lence, giving little heed to the “delirious 
babblings of the young heretic,” as he 
mentally styled the sick man’s words, 
but with a struggle going on between 
his real kindness of heart and his horror 
of giving aid and succor to one proscribed 
by the church. He thought, too, of the 
probable consequences to himself and 
family, should the emissaries of Rome 
suspect them of sympathy with the Ref- 


BANS SCHUBERT. 


45 


ormation or its adherents. He sat mood- 
ily by the table for some time after hav- 
ing finished his repast, but finally went 
back to his work, offering his accustomed 
prayer to the virgin Mary for protection, 
and ignoring her almighty Son ! 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE EMPTY PRISON. 

“ For it is better, if the will of God be so, that ye suffer 
for well doing, than for evil doing.” 

T HE escape of the two monks from the 
convent of Heilberg was not discov- 
ered by the prior until the day was some- 
what advanced; but when he finally un- 
locked the door of the prison, resolved 
to enforce his authority to the utmost ex- 
tent and demand unconditional recanta- 
tion, his disappointment and chagrin 
knew no bounds. Examination showed 
clearly that the prisoners had received 
assistance from without, and the prior’s 
suspicion at once rested upon Paul Eber- 
hardt, a monk who had also been ac- 
cused of heresy, but had saved himself 
from imprisonment by complying with the 
requirements laid down and promising 
in effect to eschew the light and walk 
henceforth in darkness. 

(461 


THE EMPTY PRISON. 


47 


On being questioned as to his knowl- 
edge of the escape of the prisoners he 
turned pale, and with many words pro- 
tested his innocence. Being pressed with 
enquiries he stammered and showed such 
confusion that the prior was confirmed 
in his belief that the miserable monk was 
concealing something. He felt a con- 
tempt for, and a lack of confidence in, 
this one from whom he had been able 
to compel a sacrifice of principle; and 
he now resolved to elicit the whole truth, 
at whatever cost. 

“I perceive that thou art still in the 
gall of bitterness and the bond of in- 
iquity,” he said, quoting the words of 
Peter. “I give thee space to repent and 
to reveal the whole matter. If thou dost 
refuse, it will be thy lot to suffer the pun- 
ishment which should have been meted 
out to thy heretical companions.” 

The trembling man again declared his 
innocence, but he was locked in his cell 
with the reiterated threat of torture ring- 
ing in his ears. Unhappy creature; he 
had renounced the truth which had begun 


48 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


to dawn on his soul, and what had he 
gained in its place? He had demon- 
strated the powerlessness of the empty- 
works of his order. Penances, prayers 
to the saints, and a scrupulous observ- 
ance of all ceremonies had brought him 
no peace of conscience. Later the day 
star of truth had appeared to him, and 
through fear of man he had turned his 
back on its rising beams. His conscience 
upbraided him for his unfaithfulness, and 
his fears became still greater. 

In the meantime the news of the escape 
of the two heretics was circulated, and 
orders given for their capture, wherever 
and whenever found. They were branded 
as “dangerous men, enemies of the church, 
and deserving of death.” All this because 
they had dared to read the word of God, 
and accept its teachings. We have seen 
that they succeeded, for the time, in elud- 
ing their enemies, and that the God whom 
he served, gave his blessing to the efforts 
which Godfrey made to spread the knowl- 
edge of his truth among those with whom 
he was brought into contact. 


THE EMPTY PRISON. 


49 


Days passed by, and Paul Eberhardt 
found himself still locked in his cell, weak 
from fasting and mental conflict, longing 
for, and yet dreading, a visit from the 
prior. At one time he resolved to retract 
his retraction, and ask that he might be 
allowed to die for the cause of Christ; 
again he trembled with terror at the 
thought of the suffering which he should 
be called to undergo. 

Another day and night of struggle in- 
tervened, and when the stern prior again 
visited the comfortless cell where he was 
confined, he reiterated his statement that 
he had nothing whatever to do with the 
escape of the two men ; but finally made 
the reluctant confession that, as he started 
out with the convent bag to beg for pro- 
visions for the morning meal of the mon- 
astery, he saw a person standing near the 
eastern wall of the building. 

“Did you recognize him?” asked the 
prior. 

“I did not recognize him,” was replied. 

He was ordered to give a minute de- 
scription of the individual whom he had 
4 


50 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


seen; and between questions and threats 
the truth was finally extorted that the 
supposed rescuer was a woman named 
Mary Braum, who lived on the outskirts 
of the village. 

She had frequently given a cup of milk 
to the poor mendicant who was compelled 
to beg for his convent, but had been heard 
to say that, though she did not grudge a 
morsel of food to the hungry, she had no 
taste for sending victuals to the fat idlers 
who feasted on the labor of others. Meas- 
ures were at once taken to cause her ar- 
rest and punishment; but the magistrate 
found her former dwelling-place deserted, 
and the prior learned to his increased 
vexation that she had gone, no one knew 
whither. The furious ecclesiastic exerted 
himself to the utmost to compel Eber- 
hardt to confess himself an informant and 
accomplice of the missing woman, but 
without avail. He remained firm in his 
denial. Threats and reproaches were 
heaped upon his head. 

“By thy sinful obstinacy,” said the prior, 
“thou hast been instrumental, at the least, 


THE EMPTY PRISON. 


5 * 


in the escape of another heretic. Thou 
deservest the combined punishment which 
the three are worthy to receive ! Get thee 
back to thy cell until it shall be decided 
what fate is severe enough for thy deserts !” 

And so the struggle and the agony be- 
gan again for this one to whom the fear 
of man had proved indeed a snare; a 
struggle which no human eye beheld, 
though a brief record of at least a part 
of the conflict was found in his cell long 
afterward. 

But when his fate had been decided 
upon, and the prior had, as he thought, 
completed the arrangements for satisfying 
his vengeance, so repeatedly foiled, he 
found that still another had thwarted him. 
No weak arm of man or woman had loos- 
ened the prison bars, and beckoned the 
captive to come forth to freedom. No 
angel hand had led the persecuted one 
through doors and gates that opened of 
themselves to the prisoner and his guide, 
and yet, perhaps an angel had been there. 
Let us hope that the unhappy monk 
sought for peace and pardon where alone 


52 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


they can be found, and that death, which 
placed him beyond the power of Rome’s 
inquisitors, the rack, the dungeon and 
the stake, came to him, not as the king 
of terrors, but as the angel which releases 
the imprisoned soul and guides it to the 
paradise of God. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE TRIUMPH OF FAITH. 

“Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall 
be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.” 

D AY after day passed, and the sick 
monk in Hans Schubert’s cottage 
remained undiscovered by his enemies; 
and day and night, even in his delirium, 
did he battle with the temptation which 
had beset him, and to which, at one time, 
alas, he had well nigh yielded. 

The good woman whose thoughtfulness 
had prevented his arrest, and whose wom- 
anly kindness had influenced her husband 
in his behalf, silently joined her prayers 
with his in the battle between light and 
darkness, which was waging under her 
humble roof. Hans went and came to 
and from* his work as usual, and shared 
with his wife the night watches at the 
bedside of the sufferer, giving him drink, 

( 53 ) 


54 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


and bathing his hot forehead as tenderly 
as if the patient had been his brother, but 
saying nothing for some time, beyond his 
first half grudging consent to allow the 
proscribed man to remain an inmate of 
his home. 

By degrees, however, it became evi- 
dent to Adela that the sick one’s words 
were taking hold upon her husband’s 
mind. The absence of that bitterness 
which characterized the language of the 
parish priest, the deep humility, the agon- 
izing earnestness with which he prayed to 
be kept from sinning against his Saviour, 
pleading to be made willing to die, if 
need be, for Christ’s sake; all this could 
not fail to arrest the attention of a man 
like Hans Schubert, a man of sincerely 
conscientious motives, so far as he saw 
the right in the dim light which had been 
permitted to reach him. 

One night, when Reynold was repeat- 
ing passage after passage from the words 
of Christ, and pleading the * promises 
which they contained, Hans sat listening 
for some time after his wife had risen 


THE TRIUMPH OF FAITH. 5 5 

to relieve him, and finally astonished that 
good woman not a little, by saying: 

“Ah, Adela, my dear, I believe thou 
art right. If this man is a heretic, then 
heresy is not such a bad thing after all, 
as the pope and father Philip would have 
us to believe. I would that we had a 
copy of Luther’s Testament to examine 
for ourselves.” 

“Not Luther’s,” corrected Adela, em- 
bracing him joyfully. “It does not con- 
tain the words of Luther, and it does not 
bear his name. He has but given us in 
our own language the book of our Lord 
and Saviour Jesus Christ. O Hans! thou 
hast made me very happy to-night. Go 
now to thy rest, and I will watch.” 

Hans lay down; but it was long be- 
fore he slept, for there rang through his 
thoughts, as a chime of the bells of heav- 
en, the words, “For God so loved the 
world, that he gave his only begotten 
Son, that whosoever believeth in him 
should not perish, but have everlasting 
life. . . . Neither is there salvation in 
any other: for there is none other name 


56 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


under heaven given among men, whereby 
we must be saved.” 

The next day after Hans had gone to 
his daily labor, Adela, still working with 
her wool, was sitting with her back to 
the entrance, singing in a soft tone, while 
the patient slept, when the door opened 
noiselessly, and a girl about twelve years 
of age stole in with the stealthy tread 
of a cat. Putting her arms about the 
singer’s neck, she said, merrily: 

“I am fain to be angry, since no one 
cares for my absence, and the mother 
sits singing, at my coming, with her back 
to the door.” 

The mother arose as soon as she could 
free herself from the clinging arms, and 
returned her daughter’s embrace. Then 
she lifted her finger warningly, and pointed 
to the bed. 

“Softly, Elise,” she said, “we have 
here a sick monk who stopped to rest 
and get a bit to eat, and was not able 
to go farther. I know not if his fever be 
infectious, but I had been content if thou 
hadst stayed at the castle another week. 


THE TRIUMPH OF FAITH. 5 7 

But how is the duchess, and how is the 
little one?” 

“ Both very well,” answered Elise. “Her 
highness says that the little socks fit ex- 
cellently, and she will have another dozen 
pairs. She bade me say that she was well 
pleased with your work. And now, my 
own mother, I have a surprise for thee, 
even a book like Frau Wimar’s.” 

The girl nodded wisely, and produced 
from a basket the very volume of which 
her father and mother had spoken on 
the preceding night. 

“A most kind and gracious young lady 
gave it to me, and she took me with her 
to church several times, and marked the 
the texts for me that I might learn them,” 
continued Elise. 

“The last time I heard brother Godfrey, 
as he is called, his text was this, ‘No man 
cometh unto the Father, but by me.’ ” 

The sick man had opened his eyes and 
was looking intently at the child. 

“Who? Whom did you say?” he asked. 

The girl’s thoughts reverted to the lady 
who had been kind to her. 


58 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


“Lady Cornelia,’ ’ she answered, walk- 
ing up to the bedside. 

Reynold turned his head away in a 
manner that betokened disappointment. 

“He is delirious,” whispered the moth- 
er, softly, “but he loves the words of the 
Christ. Say over the text again, child.” 

The girl repeated, clearly, “No man 
cometh unto the Father, but by me.” 

The sick man turned his eyes toward 
her again. 

“Go on,” said her mother, “if thou re- 
memberest any of the others.” Elise 
thought for a moment, ancl then said, 
distinctly: 

“Satan hath desired to have you, that 
he may sift you as wheat. But I have 
prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not.” 

“For me, for me!” exclaimed the sick 
monk, clasping his thin hands ecstatically. 

Elise began again: “But I say unto 
you, my friends — ” her memory failed 
her here, and she paused ; but Reynold’s 
voice took up the words — “Be not afraid 
of them that kill the body, and after that 
have no more that they can do. But I 


THE TRIUMPH OF FAITH 


59 


will forewarn you whom ye shall fear; 
Fear him, which after he hath killed hath 
power to cast into hell; Yea, I say unto 
you, Fear him.” 

He closed his eyes, and the mother 
and child, watching- him for some minutes, 
thought that he had fallen asleep again. 
Presently he smiled, and they heard him 
saying, over and over, the words, “I have 
prayed for thee that thy faith fail not.” 

Thus had the Master’s words, pro- 
claimed by the converted monk, come 
back again to the faint-hearted brother 
who had first pointed out to him the 
way of life. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


SEARCHING FOR TREASURE. 

I 

“ Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all 
wisdom.” 

H ANS SCHUBERT, with his wife and 
daughter, having come into posses- 
sion of the German New Testament, were 
seeking after the truth as those who dig 
for hidden treasure ; and as the sick monk 
recovered from his fever and gladly pro- 
claimed to them the gospel of grace, they 
felt as if they were verifying the state- 
ment that some, using hospitality, have 
entertained angels unawares. 

The humble home of these poor people 
became more truly a house of God than 
many a magnificent cathedral, in which 
stately ritual took the place of humble 
prayer, and the creature was magnified 
and worshiped instead of the Creator. 

There were no wax candles burning, 
no choir, no priest in costly vestments, 
( 60 ) 


SEARCHING FOR TREASURE. 6 1 

no idol saints looking down from sculp- 
tured niches, no gorgeous altar, no eleva- 
tion of the host and bowing down of 
worshipers before the inanimate represen- 
tations. There was, instead, a lowly con- 
fession of sin to God alone, a pleading 
of his promises of forgiveness to those 
who are truly penitent, and a devout 
study of his word. There were songs 
of praise, also, to him who in his great 
mercy had brought them out of darkness 
and bondage into the light and liberty 
of the children of God. They were 
joined from time to time by a few friends 
and neighbors who, like themselves, were 
seeking to walk in the right way. 

Katherine Wimar, the friend with whom 
Adela had studied the New Testament 
in past days, together with her two sons, 
Karl and Frederic, frequently came to 
the Schubert cottage to hear the word 
expounded by the monk, who had made 
it his daily study before the wave of per- 
secution had swept over himself and his 
companion. But the peaceful tenor of 
the lives of these Christians was not to 


62 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


be allowed to flow on thus for long in 
such a perilous time. 

One morning Elise came in from an 
errand, wearing a frightened expression 
upon her usually merry face. 

“O father, mother, brother Reynold !” 
she exclaimed, excitedly, “I saw father 
Philip at Frau Heims’, and he will know 
why we have not been to confession late- 
ly. I told him we have been confessing 
our sins to God, and he frowned, and 
said, very angrily, that he feared we 
were going astray, or were already caught 
in the net of heresy which Luther, the 
servant of Satan, has spread for the feet 
of unwary souls.” 

The child, with her retentive memory, 
gave the words of the wrathful priest 
verbatim, and brother Reynold, in spite 
of the thought of a visit from the of- 
fended father Philip, smiled at the girl’s 
unchildlike report of the priest’s accu- 
sation. 

“But he will come soon to look after us, 
he said, and what shall we do? Where 
will you hide, brother Reynold? And 


SEARCHING FOR TREASURE. 63 

where shall we conceal the New Testa- 
ment ?” continued Elise, earnestly. These 
were questions which must indeed be 
answered speedily. But the monk still 
smiled, and presently spoke in a soothing 
tone to the distressed child, brought 
face to face for the first time with the 
menaces of Rome, in its faithful minia- 
ture, the intolerant priest. 

A wonderful change had come over 
Reynold since the day on which he had 
entered the Schubert cottage, feeble and 
fearful. During the time of his slow re- 
covery he had been frequently heard to 
repeat the words : 

“Satan hath desired to have you, that 
he may sift you as wheat. But I have 
prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not.” 
And again, those other words of Christ: 
“Then shall they deliver you up to be 
afflicted, and shall kill you; and ye shall 
be hated of all nations for my name’s sake. 
And then shall many be offended, and shall 
betray one another, and shall hate one an- 
other ; . . . but he that shall endure unto 
the end, the same shall be saved.” 


6 4 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


His agonizing pleadings for help and 
strength had manifestly been heard, and 
were now changed to the calm, loving, 
trustful petitions of one who, leaning 
upon the Master’s breast, feels the sup- 
port of his mighty yet tender arms, and 
leaves all issues in his hands with tran- 
quil, unquestioning confidence. 

“Be not alarmed, Elise,” he said, in a 
kind, reassuring tone. “As for me, I feel 
myself much stronger to-day, and if this 
father Philip will but give us until to- 
morrow, I think I can relieve you of my 
presence.” 

“Ah, but we want not to be rid of 
thee!” protested the child, with tears in 
her eyes. 

“Nay, that we do not,” said the father, 
heartily. 

“Still, my friends, it is better for us 
all that I should go,” answered Reynold. 
“And as for the book, Elise, thou must 
search out a spot where the priest will 
never think of looking.” 

“Strange that I should have forgotten!” 
exclaimed Elise. “The lady Cornelia told 


SEARCHING FOR TREASURE. 65 

me that she once saved a Bible from being 
destroyed by baking it in a loaf of bread. 
She said that she burnt it so badly that 
she knew no one would want to eat it, 
and when the priest got up on a chair 
to look on the high shelf where she had 
placed it, he pushed it aside and got down 
again.” 

“Well done!” responded Hans; “though 
bread be not very plentiful, it were well 
to sacrifice a loaf in so good a cause. 
But, my child, I know of a safe hiding 
place for the book, and if father Philip 
comes and questions thee and thy mother, 
you can even assure him in truth that 
there is no Bible in the house.” He put 
the New Testament into his pocket, and 
went away to his work as usual, adding: 

“May the portion which we have got 
in our hearts abide with us so that the 
pope and all his prelates shall not be 
able to take it away from us!” 

“Amen!” responded Reynold. 

During the remainder of the day Elise 
watched apprehensively for father Philip. 
It was agreed that if he should make his 
5 


66 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


appearance before the guest took his de- 
parture that he should be again concealed 
under the wool — of which there was again 
a heap in the corner — for although no 
direct danger was feared at the hands of 
the priest, it was well understood that he 
would act the part of informer, on the 
merest suspicion that Reynold was one of 
the proscribed. 

But the day passed away and the ex- 
pected visitor did not come. The sun 
was sinking behind the distant mountain, 
and his last rays were gilding pyramids of 
fleecy clouds, piled up in the west, and 
bathing with their reflected glow the fields 
and hills around the cottage, imparting to 
its inmates a sense of peace and security 
in the thought of a further respite, and 
at least one more evening of worship and 
study together before the separation, which 
was so near at hand. 

Elise, thinking it too late for father 
Philip to be likely to venture so far from 
his comfortable home, left her post of ob- 
servation and helped her mother to pre- 
pare the evening meal. Presently the 


SEARCHING FOR TREASURE. 67 4 

father came in from his work, and the little 
company, gathered once more around the 
table. A blessing had just been asked 
upon the food, of which they were about 
to partake, when the door was opened, 
and all started and looked toward it, ex- 
pecting to see the angry face of father 
Philip, after all. 

But no, it was not father Philip. It 
was another one of the soldiers who were 
hunting for heretics, and authorized to ar- 
rest them wherever found. 

“I am looking for certain monks who 
have forsaken their convents/’ he an- 
nounced brusquely, looking over the little 
group. Reynold rose to his feet prompt- 
ly. “ I am one of them, friend,” he said, 
mildly; “do with me as seemeth thee 
good ; but I pray thee do not molest this 
family, who have done nothing to merit 
punishment.” 

The soldier looked both astonished and 
abashed to hear this peaceful admission, 
and behold unresisting surrender, when he 
had anticipated denials and possible resist- 
ance. He took a step backward as the 


• 68 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


fugitive monk advanced to meet him, and 
still another, until he again stood in the 
open door, looking at the calm, pale face 
of the young man before him. 

“Art sick?” he asked abruptly, as if 
desirous of making a diversion. 

“ I have been very sick, but thanks to 
the mercy of God, I am nearly recovered,” 
answerd Reynold. “ I am quite able to 
go along with thee,” he added quietly. 

“I misdoubt thy strength for a mile 
journey,” responded the soldier, “and I 
have no mind to carry thee. Besides, 
thou seemest not so bad a fellow, and I 
will even leave thee where thou art to 
complete thy convalescence.” 

So saying, to the astonishment and re- 
lief of Reynold’s friends, he stepped still 
backward out of the house, and closed 
the door after him. 


CHAPTER IX. 


TOR CHRISTS SAKE. 


“ And it came to pass in those days, that he went out into 
a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to 


God” 



GROUP of soldiers, drinking in a way- 


-GL side tavern, were talking boisterously 
of the “ new doctrine” which was agitating 
the nation, and condemning unsparingly 
both its promulgators and adherents. 
Grossly ignorant of the subject, as in- 
deed were many of the priests themselves, 
they yet discussed confidently questions 
on which university doctors were differ- 


ing. 


“I had liked much to be in Brussels,” 
said one, “to see the burning of the 
heretics, Esch and Voes.” 

“There were three of those rascal 
runaway monks,” observed another. “I 
helped to track them myself for a week, 
but the evil one helped them, and they 
gave us the slip.” 


( 69 ) 


70 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


“Lambert begged off/’ said the first 
speaker; “but I trust they will burn him 
yet, for he has been the worst heretic of 
the three.” 

Thus the talk went on as the beer and 
wine flowed freely, and before the even- 
ing passed, one of the company who had 
taken no part in the earlier conversa- 
tion, and who, indeed, unlike most of his 
comrades, was not wholly wanting in hu- 
man kindness and consideration, in drunk- 
en confidence revealed the fact that he 
knew the hiding-place of one fugitive monk 
whom the inquisitors were longing to ap- 
prehend. 

“ And thou didst leave him to make his 
escape before morning. Thou dost merit 
the rack and the stake thyself!” exclaimed 
one of his listeners. “ Bestir thyself and 
show us the way, that we may secure the 
foul bird before it has flown.” 

The company staggered to their feet, 
and went out noisily, followed, after a 
moment, by a youth, who had been sitting 
unobserved at the other side of the room. 

It was near the hour of midnight, and 


FOR CHRIST’S SAKE. 


71 


the occupants of Hans Schubert’s cottage, 
having sat up rather late on what they felt 
to be their last evening together, were in 
their first sound sleep, when there came a 
succession of loud knocks at the door. For 
some time no one was awakened ; then 
there was a rousing up, and a whispered 
consultation as to what was the wisest 
course to be pursued. 

Meanwhile one feeble friend continued 
to knock for admittance, with tidings of 
approaching danger, and the armed sol- 
diers came nearer and nearer, their brains 
inflamed by fanaticism and strong drink. 

At last the voice of Frederic Wimar 
was recognized, saying, almost breath- 
lessly : 

“ There is not a moment to lose ; the 
soldiers are coming to arrest brother 
Reynold, to deliver him to the inquisitors. 
They have burnt Esch and Voes,” he 
added, as the door was now opened, “and 
they are thirsting for more victims. Come 
with me this way,” grasping the hand of 
Reynold, as barefooted and half dressed 
he came forward. 


7 2 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


The door closed behind the fugitive, 
and Hans, Adela and little Elise waited in 
terror the impending visitation. Nor had 
they long to wait, when there came an- 
other knock that would have aroused 
them from the soundest sleep. 

“Who is there ?” asked the master of 
the house. 

“ Open the door, thou knave !” was the 
reply ; and the command was followed by 
threats, enforced by language that made 
the mother and child tremble. The heavy 
blows, combined with the loud rough voices 
of the troopers, declared but too plainly 
that it was only a question of time when 
the ruffians would force an entrance. 
Feeling that it was useless to resist, Hans 
opened the door. The soldiers rushed in, 
stumbling against one another, and calling 
for a light. A candle was lighted, which 
only served to show them that the man 
whom they had come to arrest had made 
his escape. 

“ Where is the beggarly, heretic monk, 
whom you have been harboring?” de- 
manded the leader. 


FOR CHRISTS SAKE. 73 

“There is no monk here,” answered 
Hans. 

“ I can see that for myself, with my two 
eyes,” was retorted, angrily, “and I arrest 
thee yes, all of you,” glancing at Adela 
and Elise, “for having connived at his es- 
cape from justice. When you have all 
lain in prison a few months you will know 
better than to give aid to the enemies of 
the church ; and if you do not burn, your- 
selves, it will be better luck than you de- 
serve.” 

Hans Schubert made no reply, knowing 
well that argument and entreaty would be 
alike unavailing. He looked at his wife, 
who, with Elise clinging to her arm, was 
standing near the door by the little table, 
on which stood the candle. At an almost 
imperceptible sign from her husband, 
Adela suddenly extinguished the light, and 
sprang out, dragging Elise with her, and 
followed by Hans, who made his exit at 
one bound, before the tipsy soldiers, one 
or two of whom he knocked down, recov- 
ered from the confusion consequent on 
the sudden darkness. 


74 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


They were heard struggling together, 
and threatening direst vengeance upon 
the helpless ones who had for the time 
escaped them. 

It was some minutes before Hans was 
able to find his wife and child in the dark- 
ness ; but under cover of the noise of the 
soldiers he called out to them, and cling- 
ing together, thankful for their safety, 
they made haste to reach the forest, which 
was not far away. It seemed a peaceful, 
blessed haven after their late experience. 
The wind sighed softly among the trees, 
and the stillness was in sweet contrast 
with the babel of voices of the rough 
troopers who had invaded their home, 
and who were still heard in the distance, 
shouting threats and execrations. 

Gradually the noise died away, and 
only the voices of the owls broke the 
stillness of the night. They watched for 
awhile, half expecting soon to see their 
little dwelling in flames ; but he for whose 
sake they were driven from their home 
had restrained the wrath of their perse- 
cutors, in so far as to spare their cottage 


FOR CHRIST’S SAKE. 


75 


and its contents — their little all of earthly 
possession. It was, however, considered 
unsafe to return to the house, and they 
resolved to remain where they were, at 
least until the morning. 

“We are glad that it is not cold winter 
time, are we not?” whispered Elise, as 
she nestled against her mothers side on 
the log where they were sitting. 

“Yes, my child,” answered the mother, 
putting her arms closer about the little 
girl, who was shivering, despite the fact 
that it was not “cold winter time.” “And 
we are also thankful,” she added, “that 
we are in God’s forest instead of a 
prison.” 

“Brother Reynold said that the dear 
Christ used to go away by himself upon 
the mountain to pray,” pursued Elise. 
“ Perhaps it was a place like this where 
he prayed all night. I wonder if he was 
not sometimes cold also, even when it was 
summer time.” 

“No doubt,” answered her mother, “he 
was often cold and weary and hungry, 
and he suffered all the pain that he en- 


76 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


dured, in life and in death, for our sakes. 
We will be glad that we are called to 
bear something for his sake, will we not?” 

“Amen,” said Hans, reverently, and in 
a soft voice that quavered a little with 
the chill of the night air and the recent 
fright; Elise echoed her father’s response: 
“Amen!” 


CHAPTER X. 


INTERRUPTED. 


“But when they persecute you in this city, flee ye into 
another.” 



HILE the husband and wife in the 


* * lowly cottage, the refuge of Rey- 
nold Weihl, were joined in one faith, 
journeying together on the heavenly pil- 
grimage by the light of God’s word, so 
lately revealed to them, it was not so in 
the more pretentious household in the 
castle at Freiberg. Duke George having 
heard that the gospel was being pro- 
claimed in the church at that place, ear- 
nestly entreated his brother, the duke 
Henry, to use his power for its suppres- 
sion. Although unable entirely to banish 
the truth from his own states, he must 
needs proclaim his intolerance by con- 
demning all who were not as blindly 
bigoted as himself. 

Chancellor Strehlin and the canons 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


78 

added their fanatical outcry, and duke 
Henry, in consequence, suddenly found 
himself a champion for popery. The 
preachers of the truth were banished from 
the church at Freiberg, and the duchess 
was reprimanded for having received the 
gospel which had brought her peace. The 
one who had been instrumental in securing 
her attendance on the preaching of the 
converted monks, one morning entered 
her apartment and found her weeping 
bitterly, while the little Maurice was trying, 
with his baby hand, to wipe away her tears. 

The intruder was about to withdraw, but 
the duchess beckoned to her to come for- 
ward, and restraining her emotion by a 
strong effort, she told her that the duke 
had not only forbidden the preaching of 
the truth at Freiberg, but had reproached 
her severely for receiving the gospel. 

“We must part, my dear Cornelia,” she 
sobbed ; “thou wilt not find it agreeable to 
remain longer at the castle. The duke 
says he wants no heretics at his court ; and 
oh, my friend, how shall I endure without 
the support of thy presence? And my boy, 


INTERRUPTED. 


79 


my precious one, whom I have in my 
prayers given to God, how can I see him 
grow up, taught to despise the truth, and 
to put his trust in human merits, as I once 
did ? Thou who hast advanced so far 
in the right way, counsel and help me 
before thou leavest me.” 

“My dear duchess,” was answered, “try 
to be calm. I must tell thee that the duke 
has spoken to me also about this matter, 
very authoritatively, and I must leave the 
castle within twenty-four hours. I am 
grieved to part from thee, but I pray thee 
do not be despondent. Remember thou 
hast a Friend who will stand by thee in 
all thy trials, and who is stronger than all 
the enemies who have incited his highness 
to adopt the harsh measures that seem for- 
eign to his kindly nature. Do not give 
way to sadness ; but pray without ceasing 
that the duke may be brought to see the 
truth as it is in Christ Jesus. As for thy 
little one, fear not. The Lord is able to 
keep that which thou hast intrusted to 
him.” The duke himself making his ap- 
pearance at this moment, the conversation 


8o 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


was brought to an abrupt termination, and 
a brief farewell was all that was left to the 
two friends. 

All who had shown any disposition to 
embrace the gospel were dismissed from 
the court. The preachers of the pure 
word of God were banished from the 
church* and compelled to flee for safety. 
Feasting and gayety went on at the castle 
of Freiberg, and the pious duchess wept 
and prayed beside the cradle of her child. 
She had found a source of strength that 
the severe measures of the duke could not 
reach, even though he should wound her 
feelings by harsh words to herself and 
those whom she loved. She would miss 
the Christian companionship of her friend. 
She would miss the preaching of the truth ; 
but she still had access to the throne of 
grace. Nor were her petitions in vain. It 
was not long before the duke’s haughty 
spirit was softened. He sought a recon- 
ciliation with his wife, and joined his 
prayers with hers. 

On being banished from Freiberg, God- 
frey Brenz and Henry Hurz, his col- 


INTERRUPTED. 


81 


league, separated for mutual safety, and 
went forth to seek other fields of labor, 
each firmly resolved to hold to the truth, 
and to proclaim the same whenever oppor- 
tunity offered. 

Godfrey had not yet visited his home, as 
he had at first purposed doing. Soon after 
his parting from Reynold he had met with 
his late companion, and the two having 
conferred together, had begun a preaching 
tour, resolved to make use of their liberty 
while it should continue, in making known 
the light which had dispelled the dark- 
ness and ignorance from their own hearts. 

But Godfrey, like Andrew of old, yearned 
to bring his dearest ones to Christ; and 
now that the work which had been given 
him was interrupted, he again set out for 
his home. He no longer wore the dress 
of a monk, and unknown to those whom he 
met, he sometimes heard his own name 
mentioned, as one of the heretics, for 
whom search was being made. He had 
heard no tidings of Reynold since the 
parting near Hans Schubert’s cottage, and 
his heart was often heavy with the fear 
6 


82 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


that his friend had fallen into the hands 
of his enemies, and still worse, into the 
sin of abjuring his faith, in order to save 
his life. 

On one occasion, when he stopped for 
the night at a public house, a couple of 
priests, drinking beer at a table near him, 
were heard talking freely of the hunted 
heretics. Godfrey ventured to ask, in a 
careless tone, whether Reynold Weihl had 
yet been captured. 

“Not yet,” answered the one who 
seemed to be the most garrulous; “but he 
made a narrow escape from the soldiers 
not long since, and is now hiding in the 
forest near Halfort, so it is reported. It 
would be fine sport to hunt down the 
knave with hounds.” 

“They have taken Brenz, I hear,” re- 
marked the other priest. 

“Then I hope the inquisitors will send 
him soon to join Esch and Voes, unless 
he makes a full and complete retraction. 
From all accounts he is as great an 
apostate as Luther himself,” responded 
his companion. 


INTERRUPTED. 


83 

Little dreaming that the man of whom 
he spoke was sitting at an adjoining table, 
the speaker finished his beer, and the two 
went out together. 


CHAPTER XI. 


WHAT IS HIS CRIME? 

“Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall 
suffer persecution.” 

T HERE was no coffin in the home of 
Gretchen Brenz ; there was no sheeted 
form awaiting the last sad rites ; but her 
neighbors had gathered to weep with her, 
and to offer her their condolence; for a 
sorrow had come to her which she said 
was worse than death, and she refused to 
be comforted. 

Sitting on a low stool, her face buried in 
her hands, she swayed to and fro, as she 
exclaimed, “ Oh, Godfrey, my lad, if thou 
hadst but died when I held thee in my 
arms!” 

There was anguish in the tone, that 
might have been like that of the wail of 
Israel’s king over the death of the son of 
his love : “ Oh, Absalom, my son, my son !” 

“There now, Gretchen,” said Margaret 
Reinhardt, laying her hand tenderly on 
( 84 ) 


WHAT IS HIS CRIME? 


85 

the bowed head, “mayhap it is not so bad 
as thou hast heard. Thou knowest that ill 
news grows as it travels. Take courage, 
and hope for the best.” 

The bowed head was shaken despair- 
ingly, and the quivering voice took up 
its wail: “Oh, Godfrey, Godfrey, that it 
should have come to this !” 

The visitors, grouped at the other end 
of the room, looked on in silence ; but the 
little fair-haired woman, with round, red 
cheeks, who sat midway in the big arm- 
chair, a pair of crutches by her side, with 
a motion of her plump hand, beckoned 
one of them to her, and asked in an un- 
dertone : 

“What crime has the lad committed, 
my friend ?” 

“Ah thou art but newly come to the 
parish and hast not heard,” answered the 
woman thus questioned. “He has im- 
bibed heretical opinions, and has run away 
from his monastery in disgrace. He will 
certainly be burned, if he is caught, and, 
indeed, rumor says that he has already 
been taken.” 


86 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


‘‘Ah!” gasped the little woman, opening 
her blue eyes wider, and drawing back 
within the arms of the big chair, as if for 
protection. 

A little girl of six or seven years slipped 
into the room, and looked about her in a 
half frightened way. The woman with 
the crutches held out a hand to her, and 
after a moment’s hesitation, she went for- 
ward timidly, and her new friend made 
room for her in the chair beside her. She 
held a paper parcel in her chubby arms, 
and she presently took out of it a little 
cake, which she pressed shyly into the 
hand which rested on her shoulder. 

“Godfrey brought me them,” she whis- 
pered. “He has come back, and the 
mother does not yet know.” 

A minute later a stalwart young man 
entered, and taking off his hat bowed 
courteously to the company, and then 
crossing the room, knelt down by the 
bowed and swaying form on the stool. 

“Little mother,” he said, in a low tone, 
“it grieves me sorely to see thee in such 
distress. Wilt thou not be comforted?” 


WHAT IS HIS CRIME? 


87 

Gretchen Brenz gave a little start, but 
only bowed her head still lower, speak- 
ing his name in a tone of mingled sorrow 
and reproach. The young man was si- 
lent; and she presently lifted her head 
and looked in his face. 

“What hast thou to say for thyself, 
Godfrey?” she asked, almost sternly. 

Then he smiled again, and rose to his 
feet. 

“Since you ask me, my mother,” he 
said, “ I will tell you what I have to say, 
and I hope these good friends will hear 
me kindly. I will try to be as brief as 
possible. I felt that I was a sinner, and 
needed pardon, and I went into the con- 
vent believing that by prayers, fastings, 
vigils, and other good works, I could buy 
peace and salvation. I prayed without 
ceasing to the virgin mother and all the 
saints. I watched, I fasted, I scourged my- 
self; I lay on the bare stones of my cell ; 
I observed all the rules of my order with 
the greatest care. But all availed me 
nothing ; I got no comfort until a brother 
monk lent me his Bible, and pointed 


88 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


out to me, passages which had brought 
peace to his own soul. I read there that 
‘ God so loved the world that he gave 
his only begotten Son, that whosoever 
believeth in him should not perish but 
have everlasting life.’ Mark you, my 
friends, the Bible does not say : whoso- 
ever shall repeat the prescribed prayers ; 
whosoever shall observe the fasts and 
vigils ; whosoever shall obey the priest, 
the prior or the pope ; but whosoever 
shall believe on the Son of God. 

“There is nothing that we can do, or 
that the pope and all the saints can do, 
to insure our salvation. Christ alone can 
save us ; and he saves us freely, if we but 
repent and believe.” 

The other inmates of the room seemed 
scarcely to breathe, as the young man thus 
boldly declared the truth of the gospel. 
The outer door swung softly on its hinges 
a little way, once, twice, thrice, and then 
closed noiselessly, unnoticed by any ex- 
cept the lame woman and the child, who 
looked uneasily for some one to enter, but 
no one came. 


WHAT IS HIS CRIME? 


89 

After a short pause Godfrey went on 
speaking. “If the priests would teach the 
people from the Bible, instead of forbid- 
ding them to read it, if the pope would 
order copies of the New Testament to be 
freely circulated among the people, instead 
of burning those they have, all Germany 
might learn to know God and to do his 
will.” 

More than one face in the audience 
wore an expression of horror, or anger, at 
these bold words; and Margaret Rein- 
hardt asked: “Who art thou to find fault 
with his holiness the pope?" 

“My friend," replied Godfrey, mildly, “I 
only wish to know and make known the 
truth. The pope and the priests have no 
right to keep the people in ignorance of 
the book which God has given to teach us 
his will." 

“Thou art indeed a sad heretic, and 
I will hear thee no longer," answered 
the woman, turning toward the door. 
She was followed by all the other vis- 
itors, except the woman in the big arm- 
chair. 


CHAPTER XII. 


ENTANGLED. 

“ Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute 
you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, 
for my sake.” 

A S the little company which had gath- 
ered to condole with Gretchen Brenz 
made haste to flee from what they re- 
garded as an atmosphere of heresy, the 
lame woman was left behind. Silently 
shaking the hand of the mother, and af- 
terward that of the son, she kissed the 
little girl, and turned to leave the house. 

Godfrey went to the door to proffer 
his assistance in descending the high 
steps, but with the agility which crip- 
ples so often display, she was on the 
ground before he reached her. She 
turned toward him as he made his ap- 
pearance, and said, in a low tone : 

“If thou knowest of any place of safety, 
seek it without delay. There was a list- 

( 90 ) 


ENTANGLED. 


91 


ener at the door whilst thou wert talk- 
ing, and see !” she added, hurriedly, as 
she glanced down the roac£ “they are 
coming even now ! Remember who has 
said, ‘ Be thou faithful unto death, and 
I will give thee a crown of life.’ Hasten 
to escape them if thou mayest.” 

Godfrey gave one glance at the ap- 
proaching crowd, pressed the hand of 
the departing visitor, and turned back 
into the room. Hastily embracing his 
friends, he passed out at the back door 
of the cottage, and keeping the house 
between himself and those who, he 
doubted not, were coming to apprehend 
him, he sought the shelter of the friendly 
forest near at hand. 

The lame woman’s route lay in the 
direction from which the people were 
approaching, and she hesitated for an 
instant, as if she were fain herself to 
follow the advice which she had given 
to Godfrey ; but the next moment she 
advanced boldly, hopping along with 
as fearless an air as that of a bird ap- 
proaching the jaws of the serpent. 


92 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


As the distance lessened, she saw that 
the company was led by the magistrate 
and the parish priest. Saluting re- 
spectfully, she would have passed on ; 
but she found herself unceremoniously 
halted. 

“And thou hast been to the heretical 
meeting,” was asserted, rather than ques- 
tioned. 

“I have simply been to see a neighbor 
whom I heard was in trouble,” said the 
woman. 

The two men in front exchanged a 
sneering smile; and then ordering some 
of his followers to go forward, the priest 
continued his examination. 

“Were there any others who happened 
to be present on the same neighborly er- 
rand? and did you happen while there to 
listen to a blasphemous tirade against his 
holiness the pope, and all good, from the 
young arch-heretic, Godfrey Brenz?” 

“There were some others there who 
truly seemed to me to have gone to try 
to give comfort to Madame Brenz,” was 
replied. 


ENTANGLED. 93 

‘‘Who were they?” was the next ques- 
tion. 

“Begging your pardon, I have but 
lately come to the parish, and am not 
yet familiar with the names of many of * 
the people,” answered the woman. 

The magistrate then questioned her as 
to the cause of her lameness, and was in- 
formed that it was the result of a stone- 
bruise. “And now, sirs, if you will ex- 
cuse me, I will go on to my house, as 
the little girl will be missing me,” she 
continued. 

“Where do you live?” she was asked. 
She pointed to a house just beyond. 

“Go on then,” said one of the two. 
“We will see you later,” was added, in 
a threatening manner. 

The priest was met at the door of 
Gretchen Brenz by the detachment which 
he had sent to the house. 

“The heretical monk has escaped, fa- 
ther Gaspard, or else he is hidden beyond 
discovery,” announced the spokesman of 
the searchers. 

The priest and magistrate entered, and 


94 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


a further attempt was made to find the 
young man whose proclamation of the 
truth of God’s word had been denounced 
as a blasphemous tirade against the pope. 

Gretchen Brenz was swaying and moan- 
ing again upon the stool in the corner, 
and little Ulrica crouched by her side, 
her eyes wide with terror. 

“Where is that reprobate son of thine ?” 
demanded father Gaspard, laying his hand 
roughly on the woman’s bowed shoulder. 

“Ah, your reverence,” answered Gret- 
chen, lifting her streaming eyes to his 
face, “believe me, I know not, and I 
have nothing to do with his heretical 
opinions.” 

The priest regarded her doubtfully. 

“Thou hast ever seemed a true daugh- 
ter of the holy mother church,” he said, 
“but these are evil times, and many are 
falling away. It were a difficult thing for 
thee to prove that thou art not implicated 
in the assembling of thy neighbors to hear 
thy son’s blasphemous utterances.” 

The miserable woman seemed to under- 
stand the hopelessness of escape from the 


ENTANGLED. 


95 


entanglement into which she had fallen. 
She attempted no reply, but leaning her 
face down on the head of the child, her 
tears burst forth afresh. 

The priest turned away impatiently, and 
the search went on. It did not require 
much time to satisfy the seekers that the 
young man was not concealed about the 
premises, and the failure angered the priest 
still more. 

“You will come with us,” he said to 
Gretchen, “and you will also give the 
names of all those who were assembled 
here this morning.” 

Then Gretchen Brenz rose up and 
wiped away her tears. 

“Father Gaspard,” she said, earnestly, 
“my neighbors came in simply to make a 
friendly visit. They came to sorrow with 
me in my sorrow, to weep with me in my 
weeping, because of my boy’s apostasy. 
They were here before he came. His 
coming was a surprise to all of us. They 
went away because he spoke as he did.” 

“ See that thou speak nothing but 
the truth, woman,” responded the priest, 


9 6 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


sternly, “hast thou not some of the works 
of the apostate doctor Martin Luther in 
the house?” 

“No; oh, no, no, most reverend father?” 
exclaimed Gretchen, crossing herself as 
she spoke. 

“Thou art condemned already,” re- 
torted father Gaspard, snatching up a 
volume from the table and opening it be- 
fore her eyes. It was a part of the New 
Testament in German. It bore the name 
of Wittemberg, and had evidently been 
read and studied much. 

If father Gaspard had not been blinded 
by fanatical fury, the expression of horri- 
fied surprise in the woman’s face could 
not have escaped his notice. Going to 
the fire-place, he thrust the book among 
the glowing coals, under the pot of vege- 
tables boiling there, and again ordered 
his victim to make ready to accompany 
him. She obeyed in silence and went out, 
with the little girl clinging to her dress. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


REUBEL CASTLE. 

“ The heart knoweth his own bitterness.” 

I T was situated on the top of a hill, and 
was reached by a rocky road that 
wound up among great trees that seemed, 
at a little distance, to bar the way before 
the traveller, yet opened to him as he 
approached, like lowering difficulties that 
disappear before the brave and persever- 
ing. 

Baron Reubel, the owner of the frown- 
ing, narrow-windowed old pile, had been 
absent from Germany for some years, and 
during all that time the castle had re- 
mained closed. There is, in the eyes of 
many persons, a certain gruesomeness 
about a long unoccupied house, even 
when situated among the busy haunts of 
men ; but when far removed from all as- 
sociation with dwellings, where bustling 
life is seen and heard on every hand, the 
7 (97) 


9 8 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


gloomy impression is proportionally in- 
creased. 

The castle was in a good state of pre- 
servation, and afforded no lodgment for 
wild beasts; yet had its many deserted 
rooms been the abodes of bears or wolves 
it had not held more of terror for some of 
the simple-minded folk in its vicinity. 

The fagot gatherers looked up with awe 
as they plied their work in the forest near 
by, and the wild strawberry seekers, 
though knowing well that the finest fruit 
grew near to the outer walls, yet shrank 
from a close approach. It was that 
shrinking from the unseen, which is a com- 
mon weakness of human nature, and which, 
in its intensity, sometimes holds the soul 
back trembling from the divinest good that 
can come to it; namely, release from the 
fetters of the seen and temporal — absence 
from the body and presence with the Lord ! 

But when the autumn winds began to 
sigh through the forest trees, the fagot 
gatherers met, from time to time, with 
unmistakable evidences that the old cas- 
tle was no longer forsaken and tenantless. 


BEUBEL CASTLE. 


99 


The unwonted smoke curled above the 
massive chimneys, and the long silence 
was broken by the cheerful sound of the 
woodman’s axe. 

While these signs of life relieved the 
gloomy aspect of Reubel castle on the 
outer side, the transformation of the in- 
terior was more complete and striking. 
The rooms so long unused had been re- 
lieved of the dust of years; the window 
panes shone like crystal, and the ruddy 
light of blazing fires glowed and danced 
on walls and rafters. The sound of cheer- 
ful voices echoed through the wide halls 
and chambers, where lately no voice had 
been heard, unless it were that of the owl 
in the forest close by. 

A portly old gentleman, in a large 
wheel-chair, was rubbing his hands to- 
gether before a blazing fire and smiling up 
at a young woman, who stood by him, 
with a hand on his shoulder. 

“And so thou art indeed glad to see the 
old man again?” he questioned; “then,” 
without waiting for a reply, “I confess I 
understand not a maiden who tires of 


IOO 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


courts and crowns, and is glad to come 
back to solitude in a gloomy old keep, 
with a gloomy old man like me.” 

The young woman laughingly laid her 
hand over his mouth. “I cannot permit 
thee to defame the best old uncle, and the 
best old home-castle in all Germany!” she 
protested. 

“Ah,” replied the baron — for it was 
he — imprisoning her hand, “what wilt thou 
now, my Cornelia ? I have not forgotten 
the interested flatteries of thine earlier 
years. What plot is fermenting in that 
busy brain of thine ? Wilt thou add my 
kreutzers to thine own, to compass the 
downfall of the emperor or the pope ? 
Or wilt thou set up a court at Reubel 
castle which shall rival that of Rome ? 
Thou must have thy will, I suppose. 
Speak out; thou knowest I never had 
the strength of mind to withstand thy 
wily assiduities.” 

The girl laughed again at his banter- 
ing tone and words. Then her face grew 
grave, and she said : 

“Please let us be serious, uncle Ulric, 


REUBEL CASTLE. 


IOI 


I have indeed a favor to ask of thee, and 
I am assured that thou will grant it. It 
is, that thou wilt allow me to have plenty 
of servants at the castle, as befitteth my 
birth and station, and that thou wilt per- 
mit me to select them myself. I know 
of a number whom it would please me to 
have,” she concluded, coaxingly, patting 
the hand that held her own. 

The old man nodded his head, with an 
air of great wisdom, looking into the bed 
of glowing coals, meanwhile. But the 
spirit of teasing was not yet exorcised. 
“And wilt thou be sitting idle from moon 
to moon, while an army of hirelings is 
consuming my substance, and I powerless 
to lift a foot in my own defence ?” he 
asked, with a show of indignant protest. 

His young relative did not seem greatly 
disturbed with this view of the matter. 

“Nay, uncle of mine, I shall not be 
idle,” she responded. “And hast thou 
so soon forgotten my own fortune ? It 
shall be drawn upon freely — ” 

“Tut, tut, child,” he interrupted, “let 
thy fortune alone. Thou knowest I did 


102 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


but jest. Act as thou wilt, only with 
common prudence ; and had I the strength 
and activity of my namesake, Hiitten, I 
had not made that proviso. But thou 
must arrange matters with Donald, and I 
warn thee that thou wilt not find him as 
easily moulded a lump of dough as thy 
old uncle Ulric. Tell him that I have 
promised thee thy will in the matter, and 
then fight thine own battles,” he added, 
laughing. 

“And now begone,” he went on, “I 
know thou art restless to gather in thy 
servitors, thou who hast been spoiled at 
ducal courts.” 

Cornelia Meyer bent and kissed her 
uncle on the forehead, murmuring her 
thanks. He waved her away almost im- 
patiently, but when she had left the room 
he smiled again, and rubbed his hands to- 
gether, as before. 

“Ah, child, thou art in face and form 
a reproduction of thy mother!” he said, 
and then he seemed to fall into a reverie, 
and his features assumed an expression 
that was different from any which his niece 


RETJBEL CASTLE. 


103 


had ever seen them wear ; an expression of 
deep sadness, which now and then was 
changed into a frown, as he clenched his 
hands, as if about to deal a blow to some 
invisible enemy. 

“Ah, if I knew, if I only knew!” he 
said to himself, in a tone of intense feeling. 
He made a movement, as if he would 
have risen to his feet, and then glancing 
down at his helpless limbs, sank back in 
his chair, and uttered a groan, that had in 
it a sound of impotent despair. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


DONALD GRANT. 


“ For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever 
ye will ye may do them good.” 


N leaving her uncle’s presence, Cor- 



Vy nelia Meyer went at once to the 
kitchen, where she knew she would find 
Donald preparing his master’s dinner. 
The faithful old man, who had been in 
the baron’s service in Scotland, had be- 
come so devotedly attached to his employ- 
er, and so deeply convinced of his own 
ability and importance, that he grudged 
even to the niece the attentions which she 
bestowed upon her uncle. Whether it 
was his customary feeling of jealousy, or 
whether he had gotten a hint of her inten- 
tions, on this particular morning she found 
him especially difficult to approach. 

He did not look up at all as she en- 
tered the room, and she came and stood 


( 104 ) 


DONALD GRANT. 1 05 

near him for some time, without eliciting 
so much as a glance. 

“I want to have a little talk with you, 
Donald,” she ventured at last; for though 
determined in her own mind to carry out 
her plans, she wished to avoid a collision 
with Donald, if possible, and to prepare 
the way for a peaceable issue. 

“Aweel,” he answered, still industri- 
ously stirring the porridge which he was 
cooking, “ I canna weel spare the time to 
explain ye the day how to cook a par- 
ritch to the maister’s liking, and it does 
na need sae lang as I’m here to do it 
mysel’.” 

Cornelia gave a little start, and smiled 
covertly, to discover the old man alert 
and intrenching himself before she had 
even broached the subject of her thoughts. 
She was silent for a moment, and then, 
deciding to make a bold stand, she said : 

“I think we shall leave the porridge 
entirely to you, Donald, since you under- 
stand how my uncle likes it; and besides, 
there will be many duties for the others 
to perform.” 


1 06 GODFREY BRENZ. 

“The ithers? What ithers, I should be 
glad to ken,” said the old servant, now 
looking up squarely, with no very amiable 
expression in his keen eyes. 

Cornelia thought herself equal to the 
emergency. 

“I speak of my own retainers, whom 
my uncle has given me permission to bring 
to the castle,” she responded, in the most 
matter of fact way she could assume. 

“Your ain retainers! your ain retainers!” 
he repeated. “And will ye be guid eno’ 
to tell me how mony are needed for a 
slip of a lassie like yoursel’?” 

The young woman laughed, in spite of 
her efforts to preserve a grave counte- 
nance. 

“Do you really wish for a list of the 
servants?” she asked. “There are quite 
a number of them, but then, you know, 
Donald, there is room enough for a good 
many people to live amicably in a castle 
as large as Reubel.” 

The old man said not a word, but 
waited ; and the porridge scorched mean- 
while, unheeded. Cornelia Meyer found 


DONALD GRANT. 


107 


herself actually quailing under the keen 
eyes fixed upon her face; and taking a 
little book from her pocket, began to read 
a list of names inscribed therein ; names of 
several persons whom she had chosen to 
attend her in her new home, and who, 
she assured herself, with the firmness 
belonging to her character, were not to 
be turned away, though a score of Don- 
alds should attempt to bar the entrance. 

“ Prithee, is that a’?” asked the old 
servant, sarcastically, when she had fin- 
ished the reading. “I dinna ken how 
mony thousand the emperor maun have 
at his royal heels, but I ken that the baron 
is an unco sensible mon, and has always 
been weel content with my ain services.” 

“He will want your services still,” re- 
plied the young lady, drawing herself up 
with some dignity, for she saw clearly that 
it was useless to try to conciliate Donald 
Grant, and felt that her effort to do so had 
only made matters worse. 

“However, there will be work for the 
others also, for we shall have frequent 
guests at the castle, and one or two serv- 


1 08 GODFREY BRENZ. 

ants will not be sufficient, ” she added as 
she turned away. 

“Bide a bit, my liddy,” said Donald, 
his tone and manner changing simultane- 
ously with her own. “I dinna ken whether 
I have altogether understood ye rightly, 
with your German accent. It is lang syne 
I ha’ heard ony thing but guid English — 
the baron speaks it brawly. The Ger- 
man is unco deeficult to understand, and 
no sae bonny when it is understood ; but 
I dinna wish to gie offence to ony of the 
maister’s friends, and I gie ye my per- 
mission to bring in as mony servants as 
the castle can weel hold. I dinna ken as 
they will do ony harm, if they do na guid.” 

The old man’s evident hard struggle 
between his wish to keep on good terms 
with the baron’s niece, and his propensity 
to indulge in sarcastic remarks on the sub- 
ject, was almost painful to Cornelia; but 
the idea of having obtained his permis- 
sion to carry out her plans was too much 
for her gravity, and she left the kitchen 
so hurriedly that Donald was divided be- 
tween his chagrin at the thought of the 


DONALD GRANT. iog 

usurpers upon his domain, and his fears 
of having seriously offended the mistress 
of the castle. 

As for Katrina, the good-humored maid, 
who was scouring the kettles at the other 
end of the room, Donald’s English, with 
or without its accent, was as unintelligible 
to her as her German would have been to 
him; so she was none the wiser for the 
muttered complaints of the troublesome 
“lass” who had caused him to spoil the 
porridge. 

“And this is but a wee drop in the 
bucket of the waste that is soon to begin !” 
he went on. He was silent for a moment, 
and then recommenced in a tone of added 
bitterness: “And this is the pious lass, 
who caret mair for a’ ithers than for her- 
sel’, preparin’ to sit down and do nae- 
thing fra’ the morn till night, but be 
waitit on, and lavishin’ money, that might 
weel be given to the puir, on a lot of use- 
less servants who will only be in my way, 
and the maister, guid mon, compelled to 
submit. Weel, I maun e’en do what I 
can to protect the baron from imposition.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


FIRE AND SWORD. 

“And he said unto them, Verily I say unto you, There is 
no man that hath left house, or parents, or brethren, or wife, 
or children, for the kingdom of God’s sake, who shall not 
receive manifold more in this present time, and in the world 
to come life everlasting.” 

T HE rising sun was overlaying the 
clouds of the east with gold. The 
aisles of the forest were flaming with the 
gorgeous tints of autumn. Nature, like 
her beneficent Maker, seemed to proclaim 
peace and good-will. Alas, that men, 
created in the image of their Creator, 
should have been making jarring discords 
in the harmony, by acts of cruelty and 
premeditated persecution. 

With the early morning some of the 
soldiers returned to Hans Schubert’s cot- 
tage, his little all of this world’s good, 
hoping to find the fugitives returned. 
Disappointed in this, they now did what 
the hidden watchers had half expected 
( 110 ) 


FIRE AND SWORD. 


1 I 1 


on the previous night — set fire to the cot- 
tage, and fed the devouring flames until 
it was reduced to ashes. 

As the little dwelling, the cost of so 
many hours of toil, and so many acts of 
sacrifice and self-denial, the centre of so 
many hopes and tender associations, went 
down amid a shower of sparks, that 
seemed each an indignant protest to high 
heaven against the outrage perpetrated, 
the now homeless outcasts looked on 
through their blinding tears. 

“We have a building of God, a house 
not made with hands, eternal in the 
heavens,” whispered Adela, softly. Hans 
pressed his lips together, and was silent. 
His faith was not so firm and strong as that 
of his wife, and this cruel injustice which 
had come to add to the burden of his 
laborious struggle to provide for his family 
and himself, was trying him keenly. 

The voice of Elise broke in upon his 
bitter thoughts. 

“Ah, that is like one of the texts which 
the young lady marked for me!” she said. 
“It is another one of the Christ texts: ‘In 


112 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


my Father’s house are many mansions: if 
it were not so, I would have told you. I 
go to prepare a place for you. And if I 
go and prepare a place for you, I will come 
again, and receive you unto myself ; that 
where I am, there ye may be also.’” 

The father’s stern features relaxed, the 
pale lips that had been rigidly compressed 
in an expression of bitter despair, quivered 
with emotion, and his eyes filled with tears. 

“We will trust him,” he said, huskily. 
“If he has prepared us a place yonder, 
he will surely provide some place of shel- 
ter for us until he calls us home. Come, 
mother, come, Elise.” 

He turned away from the spot, and the 
woman and child, with one last look at the 
smoking ruins of their former home, fol- 
lowed without a word. 

Whither they were going they knew 
not; indeed Hans himself had at the time 
but one thought, and that was to go away 
from the neighborhood of the outrage and 
its perpetrators; yet, “he knoweth the 
way that we take,” and has said: “I will 
never leave thee nor forsake thee.” 


FIRE AND SWORD. 


113 

It was not long after Hans Schubert 
with his wife and child had left the spot 
from which they had witnessed the burn- 
ing of their cottage, when a couple of sol- 
diers, coming from another direction, ap- 
peared upon the scene, leading between 
them the man who had lately been an 
inmate of the now demolished home, and 
whose fate, since the time of his flight, had 
given his friends no little concern. It was 
well that they did not know of his capture. 
So far from being able to render him any 
assistance, their own arrest would only 
have added to his trouble. 

As Reynold’s captors led him out of 
the wood, his eyes fell upon the burning 
ruins of the home lost because of obedi- 
ence to him who at the last shall say: “I 
was a stranger and ye took me in,” and 
'‘because ye have done it unto one of the 
least of these my brethern, ye have done 
it unto me.” 

His heart was divided between sadness 
over the thought of the earthly trials of 
these who, for Jesus’ sake, had risked 
Rome’s maledictions to share with him 
8 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


1 14 

their all, and the remembrance of the 
blessing promised to those who shall en- 
dure hardness in the cause of Christ. 

The Schuberts pursued their way 
through the thick forest, knowing nothing 
of the fact that Reynold had fallen into 
the hands of his enemies; but, as on the 
occasion of the arrest of that greater One, 
by the enemies of truth, there were some 
who followed afar off. Frederic Wimar, 
the youth who had warned Reynold of the 
approach of the soldiers, and had accom- 
panied him in his flight, having gone to his 
home for clothing and food for the half- 
clad and hungry fugitive, arrived with his 
brother Karl just in time to see the sol- 
diers lead him away. Themselves un- 
seen, they followed at a distance, sad at 
heart, yet fearing to endanger their own 
lives, and doubting whether the unfeeling 
troopers would permit their prisoner to 
receive the food and clothing which they 
had brought. 

The time would come when these de- 
voted youths would fearlessly risk their 
lives in their efforts to save this one, who 


FIRE AND SWORD. 


H5 

had helped them to understand the joyful 
news — the gospel of grace — and to find 
peace in believing in Jesus. 

As Reynold’s captors conducted him to 
the group of soldiers who, standing near 
the fire, awaited their approach, the eyes 
of the former monk fell upon the soldier 
to whom he had peaceably surrendered 
himself not many hours before. 

“Ah, friend,” he said, sadly, “I would 
thou hadst arrested me when I offered to 
go with thee on yesterday.” 

“Aye,” answered another, roughly, “it 
would have saved the rest of us a deal 
of trouble; but mayhap it is all for the 
best. We might not else have found and 
burned this heretic’s nest.” 

The one to whom Reynold had spoken 
made no reply, but cast down his eyes 
and looked, the young Christian thought, 
like one who was out of his proper sphere, 
as he had also done on the preceding day. 
During the long march which followed, 
this soldier, who formed so striking a 
contrast to the profane and heartless 
crowd around him, found opportunity 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


1 16 

to say to Reynold, in a hurried under- 
tone: 

“Believe me, I had not betrayed thee, 
if it had not been for the drink, and I 
will even serve thee yet, if chance should 
offer.” 

Late on the following evening the 
party arrived at a public house in a vil- 
lage, more than twenty miles from the 
scene of Reynold’s capture. The prom- 
ise of*the early morning had not been 
verified. The sunbeams early disappeared, 
and the day was dark and gloomy. The 
rain was now pouring in torrents, and the 
bare-headed and barefooted prisoner, with 
his insufficient clothing, was thoroughly 
drenched. Yet his captors, tying him to 
a post outside, went in to dry and rest 
themselves, while the persecuted one 
looked at the light which, streaming from 
door and window, suggested warmth and 
comfort, smelled the savory odors of the 
repast that was served, and shivered in 
the wind and rain. He thought of the 
promise of the soldier to serve him, if 
chance should favor him, and wondered if 


FIRE AND SWORD. 


II 7 

he would embrace the opportunity now 
offered to redeem the same. Then he 
thought of that other Captive, who stood 
neglected and forsaken, while the friend, 
who had professed a willingness to die for 
him, warmed himself at the fire in company 
with his Master’s enemies. Alas for weak, 
sinful human nature ! 

The soldier who had truly felt sorrow 
and shame for having betrayed Reynold, 
and had really desired to undo the evil 
which he had done, again partook of that 
which befogs the brain and paralyzes the 
the will, and to-night slept the sleep of 
drunkenness, while the one whose meek 
spirit, pale face, and evident lack of robust 
health, had touched his heart, stood unpro- 
tected amid gusts of wind and sheets of 
rain, which almost blinded him. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


UNANSWERED QUESTIONINGS. 

" Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of 
Christ.” 

I F the course pursued by Cornelia Meyer 
had brought down upon her head the 
unsparing condemnation of Donald Grant, 
it must be confessed it was also some- 
what puzzling to her uncle. 

Her friend the duchess, had given her a 
high character for piety and philanthropy, 
and had even hinted that she was in dan- 
ger of spending her entire fortune in the 
cause of religion, and here she was ap- 
parently preparing to enter upon a life 
of ease and enjoyment, at a time, too, 
when all Germany seemed to be in a 
state of ferment, and few were to be 
found who were not zealously arrayed 
upon one side or the other, in the contest 
between the supremacy of popery and the 
supremacy of Christ. 

( 118 ) ’ 


UNANSWERED QUESTIONINGS. 1 1 9 

Baron Reubel having lost his wife and in- 
fant son years before, had lavished his af- 
fection upon the daughter of his dead sister. 
Though strongly averse to the papacy, 
with its multiplied abuses, he was not 
a decided Christian ; and yet he felt an 
unacknowledged disappointment at find- 
ing his niece, after a separation of some 
years, not unlike many of the young 
persons whom he had met in his ab- 
sence — harmless, well enough disposed 
individuals, yet concerned chiefly about 
worldly affairs, and making no special 
efforts, except with a view to their own 
enjoyment. 

The baron could scarcely have told, if 
questioned, what it was that his niece 
seemed to lack in the rounding out of the 
ideal character with which he had invested 
her in his thoughts ; he only knew that he 
had wished and expected her to be in 
some way different from what she seemed. 

However, he permitted no sign of his 
disappointment to betray itself in his de- 
meanor towards his young relative ; cover- 
ing this, together with a deeper heart-ache, 


120 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


under a cheerful, hearty manner, which 
was partly natural and partly studied. 

His wife had died while the baron was 
absent from home, and having, with or 
without reason, incurred the suspicion 
of unfaithfulness to the Romish church, 
was refused interment in consecrated 
ground. The bereaved husband, on his 
return, succeeded in finding the grave of 
his wife, but was never able to ascertain 
where the child had been laid. 

He, himself, was accused of holding 
heretical opinions, because he expressed 
considerable doubt on the subject of pur- 
gatory and mass for the dead. Soon 
after, he left home again, a home which 
had lost its dearest charms, and though 
he returned to Germany at intervals, he 
never remained long. He had now come 
back, his sorrow softened to some extent by 
the lapse of years, yet still carrying a pain 
and a doubt which he had thought to share 
with Cornelia, yet which, now that they had 
met again, he somehow shrank from speak- 
ing of, as if he feared to trust the tender- 
ness of her touch upon a wound so painful. 


UNANSWERED QUESTIONINGS 12 I 


The young lady, not knowing of her 
uncle’s hidden grief, went on with her ar- 
rangements for the “court” which, he had 
laughingly hinted, was to rival that of 
Rome. Quite a number of servants were 
engaged, and the expected guests arrived 
one after another. 

But if Cornelia’s ambition had seemed 
to aim at a pretentious establishment, and 
a large retinue of servants, she did not 
seem yet wholly satisfied. 

Having installed Charlotte Gunther, a 
particular friend, to act as hostess in her 
absence, she made numerous short jour- 
neys, attended by a waiting-woman who, 
with her two sons, had lately made an ad- 
dition to the number already at the castle. 
Donald Grant conceived a particular aver- 
sion for the two youths at the outset; but 
he was soon to learn that whatever their 
duties might be, they were such as to 
necessitate their absence from the castle 
for the greater part of the time, and this 
fact served greatly to mollify the old man’s 
feelings toward them. 

Soon after, another woman with her 


122 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


daughter arrived. A man was also em- 
ployed, “whose business,” as Donald scorn- 
fully said, “was to take his meals by the 
clock, and between whiles to look after 
some half dozen sheep that one of our 
sheep-dogs could mind much better, and 
at far less expense to the maister.” 

Of the woman who waited upon the 
young mistress he said nothing; but the 
child’s face and voice appeared to win 
his heart. Despite their inability to con- 
verse together, the two seemed instinct- 
ively to understand each other, and the 
uncompromising old Scotchman was soft- 
ened and subdued by the mere presence 
of the girl. There was at times a sadness 
about her that did not suit her years, and 
which puzzled the old servant not a little ; 
indeed, there was much to mystify and 
perplex him. He felt that the mistress 
did not trust him implicitly, and when he 
ventured to question her uncle, the only 
English-speaking person at the castle, 
except Cornelia and himself, he found the 
baron as ignorant in regard to his niece’s 
proceedings as he. 


UNANSWERED Q UEST10NINGS. 1 2 3 

One morning, very early, the two youths, 
who had been gone for some days, re- 
turned to the castle with tidings, which 
evidently caused much sadness to those 
who understood their meaning. The little 
girl wept passionately, and the others 
seemed scarcely' less sad ; while the pale, 
sorrowful faces of the two boys themselves, 
went far to counteract the hostility which 
Donald had allowed himself to feel toward 
them. They were plainly much fatigued, 
and looked so travel-worn and miserable, 
that, when their food was served, the old 
man offered them each a bowl of hot 
porridge, prepared by his own hand. 
They received it with smiling acknowl- 
edgement, and soon after their meal went 
to rest. 

As night drew on, the two youths made 
ready to go forth again, and, although 
their mother assisted them to prepare for 
the journey, herself making up a package 
of food for them to carry, when the part- 
ing came she wept as if she knew that 
the separation would be final, alternately 
clasping her sons to her breast, and hold- 


124 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


ing them off to look into their faces as if 
for the last time. 

It was a solemn farewell, which all pres- 
ent — including several guests — seemed to 
feel, and affected even the one who could 
not understand the earnest words and 
broken sentences which were uttered. At 
the last, Donald himself came forward and 
shook hands heartily with these two, who 
were going forth — to what? He did not 
know, nor indeed did any of the company 
assembled in the servants’ hall on that 
memorable night; but all would remem- 
ber the fair, boyish faces, and the answer- 
ing pressure of their hands, in the days 
to come. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 


“ The wicked is driven away in his wickedness : but the 
righteous hath hope in his death.” 



FTER Gretchen Brenz and her child 


had been committed to prison, the 
priest made a visitation to all the houses 
in his parish, in the search for heretics 
and copies of the German New Testa- 
ment. Failing to discover any of the 
latter, and unable to prove that the 
meeting on the day of Godfrey’s visit 
had not been a harmless one, he was 
fain to be satisfied with sending lame 
Mary and her little girl to keep the 
others company, since this woman was 
the only one who refused to declare her 
abhorrence of the doctrines preached by 
the “renegade monk,” as Godfrey was 
designated by the priest. 

“The women ar£ evidently heretics, and 
as cunning as they are evil!” said father 


( 125 ) 


126 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


Gaspard. “We will keep the two of them 
in durance until it is seen what is best to 
do with them.” 

As for Gretchen, the sorrow consequent 
upon what she regarded as Godfrey’s 
apostasy, followed by the unjust suspicion 
which had doomed her to imprisonment, 
produced complete prostration. She fell 
seriously ill, and but for the careful atten- 
tion of her fellow prisoner, would probably 
have died in a short time. The jailer’s wife, 
who was a kind-hearted woman, favored 
the captives so far as she was able to do 
so without her husband’s knowledge. The 
man himself seemed to be without natu- 
ral feeling, and hence, a fit tool for the 
men who were filling the prisons of the 
land with those who had committed no 
crime, and were as fully entitled to liberty 
as themselves. 

The little girl grew pale, and Mary’s 
fresh plump cheeks became thin and sal- 
low, yet the latter never lost her cheery 
smile, and spoke constant words of hope- 
fulness. 

But a more powerful ally than the jailer’s 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 127 

wife was approaching ; one who makes no 
discriminations against the persecuted and 
in favor of the persecutors. A visitor was on 
the way, before whom priests and magis- 
trates were as powerless as their victims. 

One day, without a word of warning, 
the news flashed through the village, from 
mouth to mouth, that father Gaspard was 
stricken with the plague. The people fled 
from the very neighborhood, and the 
wretched man had been left to suffer and 
die alone, but for one who braved the fell 
disease, to minister to him in his need. 
Leaving Gretchen Brenz and the children 
in care of the jailer’s wife, whose husband 
was among the refugees, the lame woman, 
released from her- imprisonment, went to 
the home of the stricken man, who himself 
had shown no mercy. 

She found him in the grasp of the fever, 
moaning incoherently, and protesting that 
he was faithful to the church of Rome. He 
started on seeing his visitor, and put out his 
hands as if to repel her from his presence. 

“Who are you?” he demanded. The 
lame woman gave her name, and assured 


128 G ODFREY BRENZ. 

him that she had come to do what she 
could to help him. He said no more, 
but watched her uneasily from time to 
time. Having had some experience with 
the terrible disease, she proceeded to ap- 
ply such remedial agents as were known 
and used at this period, but with little 
apparent benefit. The miserable man 
languished day by day, and his suffering 
was both mental and physical. The smoke 
arising from the brazier for disinfection 
appeared to suggest to his mind the hor- 
rible burnings for which he had helped 
to furnish victims, and he seemed to feel 
that his time had come. 

“Why should I be burnt?” he would 
ask, in a frightened tone, “I, who have 
denounced the gospellers, and burned 
their Bibles, whenever I could discover 
them!” 

It was in vain the woman attempted 
to soothe him. His pain and fright con- 
tinued unabated; but just before his death 
it assumed a form that, to the lonely 
watcher, was strange and terrible. 

The sick man had apparently slept for 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


129 


a little while, and when he opened his 
eyes, he stared toward the opposite wall 
in a terrified way. 

“Ask him — oh, ask him to go away!” 
he plead, tremblingly. 

“There is no one here but me,” spoke 
the nurse, softly. 

“Art thou blind?” he asked, pointing 
with a shaking finger. “I can see him 
plainly, more plainly than I can see thee. 
It is — it is the Christ. I know that it is he !” 

He raised himself up in the bed as he 
spoke. 

“Then it is the merciful One,” answered 
the nurse; “ask him to forgive you, and 
cast yourself upon his compassion.” 

“Merciful, merciful,” he repeated. “What 
is it that is said of the merciful?” 

“Blessed are the merciful for they shall 
obtain mercy,” quoted Mary. 

“Aye, so!” he exclaimed, seeming to 
grasp the awful alternative implied. He 
reached his clasped hands above his head, 
then threw them apart with a hopeless 
gesture, and the groan that escaped his 
lips was despair itself. 

9 


130 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


“Inasmuch as ye have done it — ye have 
done it unto me,” he continued, brokenly. 
“Oh, ask him to go away ! There are prints 
on his hands and his feet ! There are scars 
on his forehead! It is he whom I have 
persecuted !” 

He fell back upon his pillow. Father 
Gaspard was dead. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 

“In weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in 
hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.” 

T HE inclement weather continued at 
intervals, for some time, and Rey- 
nold Weihl received scant consideration 
from his captors. Sometimes in their 
better moods, perhaps at the intercession 
of the one among them who seemed least 
cruel, they would give him a little food, 
permit him to dry himself by the fire, 
and to lie down to sleep on the floor of 
the inn at which they were stopping. At 
other times, feeling irritable and uncom- 
fortable, they would vent their ill-humor 
upon their helpless captive, and leave 
him outside, as on the night following 
his apprehension. 

He had felt more than usually fatigued 
by the journey on the day preceding the 
events to be narrated in the present chap- 

( 131 ) 


132 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


ter, and had hoped for clemency from the 
leader of the troops having charge of 
him. But no; on stopping for the night 
the heartless command was surlily given: 

“Tie the heretic knave to the hitching- 
post, and see thou do it securely.” 

As Reynold stood thus, like an ill-used 
beast of burden, while his captors rested 
and refreshed themselves in the shelter 
of the house, the devoted servant of 
Christ, hungry, weary and exposed to 
the elements as he was, yet experienced 
more of true comfort than any one of 
the reveling troopers who had unfeelingly 
left him standing alone in the storm. 

He thought of the blessed Christ child, 
born in a stable, and cradled in a manger, 
because there was no room for him in 
the inn. He thought of the weary, way- 
worn One, who said, pathetically, “The 
foxes have holes and the birds of the 
air have nests, but the Son of man hath 
not where to lay his head.” He thought 
of the touching complaint of the treat- 
ment of his enemies, “They hated me 
without a cause.” 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 


133 ' 

Feeling assured of his presence and 
blessing, Reynold experienced a joy that 
he was accounted worthy to suffer for the 
sake of such a Master. His bodily dis- 
comforts were forgotten. He even tried 
in his feeble voice to sing the Gloria, but 
his weariness and the wind and rain ren- 
dered the sounds inaudible, except to the 
ear of God. 

Then he prayed earnestly, fervently, for 
the blessing of heaven upon the friends 
with whom he had lately held sweet com- 
munion, and who, now rendered home- 
less, were perhaps wandering in the night 
and the storm. He prayed for the brother 
who had shared the peril of his escape 
from the convent. He prayed for those 
who were imprisoned for the truth’s sake ; 
some of whom were tempted by the fear 
of death to save their lives at the risk 
of losing their souls, as he had once 
been tempted to do. He prayed for 
those who, bound by the fetters of igno- 
rance and bigotry, were crucifying the 
Son of God afresh, in the persecution of 
his followers. • He prayed for the unfeel- 


' 134 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


ing soldiers, instruments in the hands of 
men who gave them license for the cruel 
treatment of those whom they might cap- 
ture. 

The noise of song and laughter had 
subsided in the public house, and all was 
still, as befitted the night time. No sound 
was heard except the tones of the pris- 
oner, as he lifted up his voice in prayer. 
Stronger and clearer arose the petitions 
as he seemed to see the invisible One, 
who slumbers not, neither is weary. He 
plead with increasing earnestness for the 
triumph of the gospel, and liberty of con- 
science in Germany and the world. He 
asked, if it were the will of God, that he 
might be spared to aid in proclaiming the 
doctrine of salvation through the merits 
of Jesus Christ alone, to those who were 
laboring to establish a righteousness of 
their own by means of works, or trust- 
ing to the merits of others, saved them- 
selves alone through the merits of the one 
Redeemer, who gave himself to purchase 
the salvation of man. 

As the last petition went up to heaven, 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 1 3 5 

a hand was laid on the petitioner’s arm, 
and a voice said softly : 

“We have come, brother Reynold. We 
had been here sooner, but in taking a 
course to avoid being seen, we lost our 
way, and after trying in vain to find it, we 
returned home, and conveyed the mother 
to a place of safety.” 

As he spoke, Frederic Wimar was cau- 
tiously cutting the cords that bound the 
captive, and his brother was producing 
the food which they had brought. 

“There is a deserted hut at a short dis- 
tance,” whispered Karl, “we will help thee 
thither, brother Reynold, and thou mayest 
there rest, and prepare to go further.” 

The three set out at once, «.s rapidly as 
they were able to travel, the two youths 
assisting their friend, whose bare feet had 
been bruised and torn by the stones of the 
road. 

They had not proceeded far, when, on 
looking back, they saw lights flashing here 
and there about the inn, and rightly con- 
jectured that Reynold’s escape had been 
discovered. 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


136 

One of the soldiers had gone out to 
satisfy himself that the prisoner was still 
there, and finding him gone, had given the 
alarm. There was no time to reach a 
place of shelter. 

“We must separate at once,” whis- 
pered Reynold, “each hiding as best he 
can.” 

The rain had now ceased, and this fa- 
vored the troopers, as they ran with flash- 
ing torches in all directions. Not a mo- 
ment was to be lost. The two faithful 
rescuers, loth to leave their feeble com- 
panion, hurried him into the edge of the 
wood which bordered the road, and push- 
ing him down behind a rock, hastened to 
seek a hiding-place for themselves. Nearer 
and nearer the torches came, and the boys 
ran for their lives. Weary as they were, 
they might have made their escape, had 
not Frederic stumbled upon a stone, and 
turned his ankle, inflicting a painful sprain. 
He sank down with a little moan, and his 
brother turned back to assist him. 

“Go on and save thyself, if thou canst,” 
he said faintly, “I have hurt my ankle.” 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 1 3 7 

“Nay, I will carry thee, or stay by thee,” 
answered Karl. 

Alas, that heroic devotion should have 
met so cruel a recompense ! The soldiers 
were soon upon them, and dragging them 
back to the inn, they tried by every act of 
cruelty which they could devise, to com- 
pel them to betray Reynold’s place of 
concealment. Had he known what these 
young heroes were suffering for his sake, 
he would not have hesitated to return, sur- 
render himself, and plead for their release. 
Not knowing of their arrest, he fell asleep 
after a time, and awoke with aching head 
and limbs, to find the light of day around 
him. Peering out from his hiding-place, 
and seeing no one, he slowly made his 
way further and further into the wood. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


WITHOUT THE GATES. 


“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall 
tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or naked- 
ness, or peril, or sword ? As it is written, For thy sake we 
are killed all the day long ; we are accounted as sheep for 
the slaughter. 

R EYNOLD WEIHL was free. The 
men from whom he had been res- 
cued by Frederic and Karl Wimar, were 
scouring the neighboring wood in their 
efforts to recapture him. Once, while 
hiding among some logs and brushwood, 
he heard a party of them talking very 
near to the place of his concealment. 

“The most troublesome heretic that 
ever an honest trooper hunted, in spite 
of his meek, sanctified airs,” commented 
one. 

“If he is taken again, I venture there 
will be short space given him for saying 
his prayers,” said another voice* “It will 
( 138 ) 


WITHO UT THE GATES. 1 39 

be, ‘take off his head and burn him after- 
ward.^ 

A coarse laugh went up at this sug- 
gestion of a form of procedure that was 
actually followed in some instances, in 
the persecution of this fearful time, though 
there was a preference for burning the 
victims alive. 

“The finest burning I ever witnessed,” 
spoke another, “was that of the book- 
seller, John of Buda. The knave had 
been circulating Luther’s New Testament, 
and other writings of the heretical doctor. 
Since he was so fond of such literature, 
they resolved to give him enough of it. 
And so, what do you think? They fast- 
ened, him to the stake, built a tower of 
his favorite books around him, and set 
fire to them !” 

“Did he recant?” asked one of the 
listeners. 

“Recant? not he, the incorrigible sin- 
ner ! He spoke out of the midst of the 
fire, and said he was glad to suffer for 
the Lord’s sake. But up and away, lads ! 
While we sit talking here, our own her- 


1 40 GODFREY BRENZ. 

etic may be scattering Bibles, and what 
not; for nothing will cure these fellows 
but the sword or fagot.” 

Reynold watched them as they strode 
away through the forest, and, returning 
thanks for this new escape, which he felt 
was indeed a narrow one, he emerged 
from his nook, and painfully pursued his 
journey. 

The searchers had spoken no word of 
the two brave young friends, who had 
risked so much in their efforts to set 
him at liberty, and his feelings fluctuated 
between hope and fear regarding them. 
Alas, his worst apprehensions could not 
exceed in horror the scenes enacted at 
the bidding of the pitiless prelate, into 
whose power they were delivered on the 
morning after their arrest. They were kept 
closely confined during the day and the 
night that followed. On the next morn- 
ing they were roused up from dreams of 
home and friends, and bidden to come 
forth. 

It was yet very early. The sun, still 
far below the mountain tops, was faintly 


WITHOUT THE GATES. 


14I 

tingeing the east with his coming glory. 
The rain was over and gone ; and the 
youths, whose wet clothing had caused 
them great discomfort, thought gratefully 
that if about to be set at liberty, as 
seemed to them at least possible, the 
opening day promised cheer and com- 
fort for their homeward journey. 

Frederic’s ankle was still swollen and 
painful, but the hope of release made 
him willing to endure the suffering. The 
boys were conducted through the streets 
of the town, past rows of silent houses, 
where here and there a light glimmered, 
betokening early risers, or a chamber 
where watchers sat in the presence of 
sickness or death. 

On and on they went in silence, the two 
men who accompanied them walking one 
before and the other behind the two boy- 
ish prisoners, who were tied together by a 
rope about the waist, and who, with the 
buoyancy of youth, were hoping that they 
were being conducted to the gates to be 
ordered to depart. 

But their escort did not halt at the gate. 


142 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


The boys began to feel some alarm ; yet 
there was no sign of the crowds that were 
wont to assemble at the burning of those 
charged with heresy; crowds that gather 
to witness the executions, in order to grat- 
ify a morbid taste for the horrible, or to 
satiate the still more fiendish appetite for 
persecution. 

The prisoners looked questioningly into 
each other’s faces, but found no answer 
there. They dared not speak to their 
conductors, doubting whether they should 
receive any explanation, and half fearing 
to hear it, should any be given. 

“ Perhaps we are to be taken to another 
town for imprisonment,” whispered Karl, 
and Frederic nodded assent to the suppo- 
sition. 

But no; when they reached a lonely 
spot, some distance outside of the town, 
the man who went before halted, and 
turned him about, facing his prisoners. 
The whole party stopped, and there was a 
moment’s silence. The boys shuddered, 
as the one who had led the march drew 
his sword from its scabbard and tried its 


WITHOUT THE GATES. 


143 


keen edge, as if he doubted its efficacy 
for the work which he was about to per- 
form. The helpless youths clung to each 
other in terror; yet the faint hope strug- 
gled for recognition — might he not be 
about to sever their bonds, as they them- 
selves had cut the cords that held the one 
whom they had set at liberty? 

The suspense was becoming well nigh 
insupportable. The east was growing 
brighter, and the distant mountains were 
becoming more and more distinctly out- 
lined against the glow. The tinkle of a 
bell was heard somewhere in field or wood 
not far away. All was seen and heard 
with the vividness which belongs to su- 
preme moments when a balance is trem- 
bling between life and death. 

These two were only boys, and had not 
the steadfast courage which sometimes 
comes to riper years. They had known 
some trials ; yet life, love, friendship, and 
the beautiful world around them, were 
very dear to their young hearts. Yet, 
they were Christians, and if they were 
about to be called upon to die, strength 


144 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


would be vouchsafed to them as it was 
needed. It has been said that dying 
grace comes with the dying hour. 

The perspiration broke forth under the 
yellow curls on Karl’s forehead, and the 
cold hand of Frederic trembled in his 
own. 

The silence was suddenly broken by 
the man who held the sword. He was a 
dark-browed, stolid-faced individual, whose 
countenance betokened no nice regard for 
justice, far less a sentiment of tenderness; 
yet his words might well have put to the 
blush the men who, claiming to be shep- 
herds over God’s flock, were enacting the 
part of wolves. 

*T like not this,” he said grimly. “How 
can I do this thing? The boys have had 
no trial !” 

“Better obey thine orders and ask no 
questions,” responded the other. 

There was a pause, and then the exe- 
cutioner spoke again, more emphatically 
than before: 

“I tell thee I like it not. Go thou and 
inform the archbishop for me, that I mis- 


WITHOUT THE GATES. 1 45 

doubt the right of a proceeding like this, 
and ask him plainly for me, if the lads 
should not first be brought to trial. And 
see that thou give careful heed to his 
reply. Begone.” 

His companion said no more, but turned 
back at once toward the town. The dark- 
browed executioner stood with drawn 
sword, as if guarding the prisoners whom 
he had dared to reprieve. 

The youths, knowing well that suppli- 
cations would be vain, and that an attempt 
to escape would be worse than useless, 
awaited in silence the return of the mes- 
senger, whose words would bring a fur- 
ther respite, or a death-warrant for them 
both. 

The time, burdened as it was with awful 
suspense, went by. The sun looked over 
the mountain tops, and lighted up the 
spot where they were standing. 

The brothers, facing their guard, saw 
that he was watching keenly for the man 
whom he had had the temerity to send for 
instructions, in the face of explicit orders. 
They wondered if something might not 
10 


146 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


prevent his return : if the archbishop might 
not be too much engaged to receive him ; 
if he might not be absent, and so a final 
order fail to be issued. 

The minutes seemed to drag, and yet 
to fly. They followed the messenger in 
imagination, back to the town, along the 
streets which they had lately traversed, 
and to the place of their late imprison- 
ment. They tried to calculate the time 
that would be required for his journey and 
return. They began to hope that he was 
not coming back. They watched the 
guard. He kept his eyes fixed steadily 
on a distant point beyond them, and his 
countenance indicated no variation of 
thought or feeling. 

They waited and waited still, without 
turning their heads. They heard no foot- 
fall on the sward behind them, but sud- 
denly they heard, as those who hear a clap 
of thunder from a cloudless sky : 

“The archbishop says: ‘Do what I com- 
mand you, and leave the responsibility to 
the prince.’” 

“Does that mean that we must die?” 


WITHO UT THE GA TES. 1 47 

asked Frederic. The man with the sword 
nodded. 

“Wilt thou give us time to pray, first ?” 
questioned the boy. 

Again the executioner gave a silent af- 
firmative. The two boys knelt down, 
clasped in each other’s arms. They 
prayed simultaneously, in slightly varying 
language, for their widowed mother and 
other friends. They prayed for the spread 
of the gospel light and truth, and then 
they prayed for strength to die, and ex- 
claimed together: 

“Lord Jesus, receive our spirits!” 

Their voices ceased. They bowed their 
heads, still kneeling. The cruel blade de- 
scended once and again ! 

Aghast, we drop the veil upon this deed, 
committed in the light of the sun, not far 
from Salzburg, in the sixteenth century, 
under the authority of Rome ! 


CHAPTER XX. 


A TREACHEROUS HOST. 


“ Their tongue is os an arrow shot out ; it speaketh deceit : 
One speaketh peaceably to his neighbor with his mouth, but 
in his heart he layeth his wait.” 


N the same morning on which Reynold 



Weihl was threading his way through 
the forest, two travellers were journeying 
by the road between Heilbrun and Wel- 
tendorff. They were very unlike in ap- 
pearance, the one being pale and thin, as 
if from fasting or excessive labor, the other 
portly, and with a countenance that indi- 
cated good living. Yet they conversed 
by the way, like two, who, though their 
outward circumstances might be widely 
different, were yet of one mind. The sub- 
ject of their conversation was the one all- 
absorbing topic, which the adherents of the 
pope styled heresy, and the advocates of 
reformation, called the truth. They talked 
of the abolition of monasticism and the 


( 148 ) 


A TREACHEROUS HOST. 


149 


mass ; and though the pale-faced man did 
most of the talking, his companion of the 
florid countenance gave, or seemed to 
give, a cordial assent to all that he said. 

The speaker, Godfrey Brenz himself, 
was now at a considerable distance from 
the scene of his former monastic life, and 
farther still from the home of his boyhood, 
where he had so narrowly escaped appre- 
hension, and having met one, who, judging 
by the little he said, seemed not only ig- 
norant, but conscious of his lack of knowl- 
edge, and anxious to profit by the superior 
light possessed by his fellow-traveller, the 
former monk condemned in plain, unequiv- 
ocal language, the abuses which reformers 
were striving to cast out of the church, as 
our Saviour drove from the temple the 
desecrators of his Father’s house. 

He had spoken of the mass as idolatry, 
and of purgatory as a myth, and when 
his companion reverted to the dogma of 
papal infallibility, he said, boldly: 

“To claim that election and ordination 
can raise a mere man from a cardinal’s 
seat to the very throne of God himself, 


I 5° 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


seemeth to me like rank blasphemy, es- 
pecially as regards some of the popes 
who have worn the tiara, Borgia, for ex- 
ample.” 

The stranger’s attention seemed riveted 
on the speaker’s words. 

“But more than this,” he went on, 
“Adrian himself admits that a pope may 
err in matters of faith.” 

“Adrian is mistaken!” said the other, 
suddenly, with a display of feeling that 
surprised Godfrey, but did not silence him. 

“Then truly,” he answered, “since Ad- 
rian himself is pope, methinks he is a 
living example of the truth that popes 
are not infallible.” 

The stranger did not reply to this ir- 
refutable argument. The two were ap- 
proaching a house, and presently he said : 

“This is my home; I pray thee to come 
in and dine with me. I wish to hear thee 
further in regard to these things of which 
we have been speaking.” 

Godfrey was really in need of food, 
but he was still more hungry for the 
opportunity to proclaim the gospel; and 


A TREACHEROUS HOST. 1 5 I 

when they were seated at the table, he 
almost forgot the repast before him, in 
his zeal to speak for God and his truth. 

The other had taken up the conversa- 
tion where it had been discontinued, by 
saying : 

“Then I trow thou dost also deny the 
power of the pope to grant indulgences.” 

“Aye, that I do !” answered the re- 
former, warmly, forgetting or ignoring 
all else, save that he had a listener who 
seemed to be groping for the light. “ Even 
if the pope be a genuine Christian, he 
has no more power to forgive sin than 
the humblest Christian who dwells in the 
hamlet which we passed this morning. 
None but God can forgive sin. If a man 
be truly penitent, his absolution may be 
declared by the peasant in the field, or 
the child at its mother s knee. It is said, 
‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and 
thou shalt be saved.’ I may proclaim this 
truth to the sinner just as I may be sent 
by the emperor with a message of par- 
don to a man condemned to die. And, 
my friend, mark the wide difference be- 


152 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


tween God’s pardon and the pretended 
pardons that are bought and sold. God’s 
forgiveness is granted only to the peni- 
tent, who comes abhorring his sin because 
it is the abominable thing which the Lord 
doth hate; because it was the cause of 
Christ’s suffering and death; because it 
is that which separates between him and 
his heavenly Father. Trusting in God 
for strength, he comes with a full purpose 
of heart to forsake it and strive to walk 
henceforth as Christ has commanded. The 
buyer of indulgences is not required to 
sorrow for and forsake his sin: he is only, 
at the best, buying exemption from pun- 
ishment, and in many cases in this mon- 
strous abuse and mockery of the doctrine of 
forgiveness, he is purchasing a license to 
go forward and glut himself with the vices 
which are dear to his depraved heart. God 
says: ‘Be ye holy, for I the Lord your God 
am holy.’ Rome says: ‘Contribute liber- 
ally to the maintenance of the luxury and 
splendor of the papal court, and thus buy 
the liberty of enjoying the sins which the 
unregenerate heart delights in.’ God says : 


A TREACHEROUS HOST. 153 

‘The soul that sinneth, it shall die/ 
Rome says: ‘Pour out of your wealth 
into the coffers of the church, and you 
shall be saved, though you hug your se- 
cret sins as closely as you may desire/ 
God’s pardon means salvation from sin 
itself, and a title to heaven. Rome’s par- 
don means a smooth, flower-strewn de- 
scent to the regions of darkness and ever- 
lasting punishment.” 

“Truly thou speakest boldly !” said the 
host in reply to this. There was some- 
thing in his voice and manner that made 
his guest turn and look at him attentively. 
But when, a moment after, he spoke again, 
the impression was effaced. 

“I have a friend not far away who, I am 
persuaded, would count it a privilege to 
hear thee speak on this subject. I pray 
thee tarry and rest thyself awhile, and I 
will summon him.” 

Scarcely waiting for a reply, he quitted 
the house hurriedly, and Godfrey was left 
alone. Only a few minutes elapsed after 
the host’s departure, when a woman, who 
had served the dinner, came and stood in 


154 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


the door between the apartments. She 
remained silent, twisting her cap strings 
in an embarrassed manner for some time. 
At last she spoke, alrtiost angrily. 

“I have no patience,” she said, “with 
folk who, in times like these, must needs 
take the trouble to give tongue to dan- 
gerous opinions, for the mere sake of con- 
troversy. If thou must entertain these 
interdicted doctrines, why canst thou not 
believe them in thy heart, and hold thy 
peace?” 

Godfrey smiled at the impetuosity of 
her speech and manner. Then he said, 
gravely : 

“My good woman, thou doest me 
wrong, if thou dost believe that I express 
my belief for the mere sake of opinion. 
I feel that I am called to reveal the light, 
which has showed to me the darkness 
and danger of my former state. Woe is 
me if I preach not the gospel of Christ!” 

“Then I warn thee, that thou wilt pay 
dearly for thy preaching, if thou art here 
at the end of an hour,” she replied. 

“Why, dost thou think that he will — ” 


A TREACHEROUS HOST. 


155 


“I know that he is gone to denounce 
thee to the authorities, and that thou will 
be apprehended immediately,” she inter- 
rupted. 

“And thou art this man’s wife?” he ques- 
tioned. 

“Nay, I am not his wife,” she replied, 
“he has no wife; he is a priest, wearing 
layman’s dress, the more easily to entrap 
such an one as thou art,” she added, in a 
tone of bitterness, while the tears flashed 
into her eyes. “I had a pious grandfather,” 
she continued, “who talked as thou dost, of 
peace and salvation through the merits of 
Christ ; but that is past. I have nothing to 
do with thy belief. Go thou at once if thy 
life is worth thy saving. Stay where thou 
art, if thou art seeking a martyr’s crown.” 

“But what of thine own fate, my good 
woman?” asked the visitor. 

“I am not a good woman,” she contra- 
dicted, almost fiercely; “but that is no affair 
of thine. And if it were, know thou that 
no harm will come to me because of thy 
escape. I have warned thee. Choose for 
thyself. The time is short.” 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


156 

Godfrey arose. “I thank thee for thy 
warning,” he said; “and I, in turn, warn 
thee to flee from the wrath to come. Thou 
mayes’t not be in danger of the peril that 
threatens me; but all who live in sin are 
hastening toward a sorer peril ; and as thou 
thyself hast said, ‘The time is short.’ ” 

The woman turned away, and left the 
apartment without a word, and when, a 
little later, she again looked into the room, 
the guest had taken his departure. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


HOW WAS I TO KEN? 


“ But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, con- 
cerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as 
others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died 
and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will 
God bring with him.” 



rp HERE was sorrow at Reubel castle. 


J- If the news brought by the two youth- 
ful messengers, at their last coming, had 
caused heavy hearts, the sadness seemed 
to increase tenfold, now that weeks had 
elapsed and they still remained absent. 
The mother watched for them day after 
day, the expectation in her pale face grad- 
ually giving way to an expression of sor- 
rowful resignation that was pitiful to see. 

The stern old man, who had felt him- 
self obliged to look after his employers 
interests, and who had grudged what he 
had regarded as a useless squandering 
of the baron’s means, had learned to feel 


( 157 ) 


158 G ODFREY BRENZ. 

that there were issues involved which he 
did not understand. 

One evening a man arrived at the cas- 
tle in a pitiable condition, feeble, ragged, 
and travel-stained. The faces that wel- 
comed him were stamped with pitying 
kindness, which changed to grief and hor- 
ror, as he talked with them and seemed, 
little by little, to reveal to them some- 
thing which Donald himself grasped, al- 
though he could not understand a word 
of the conversation. 

Approaching Cornelia, he beckoned her 
aside, and said, in a subdued tone: 

“My leddy, will ye no’ tell me what 
sair trouble has come upon ye a? What 
is it that has befallen the lads?” 

“Oh, Donald!” she answered, with a 
burst of tears, “how can I tell you? They 
were so good and true — they were their 
mother’s only sons, and she a widow!” 

“How did they die?” he asked. 

“They were beheaded,” she replied, in a 
voice choked by her emotion. 

“ For what?” he demanded. 

“ For being Christians, and trying to 


HOW WAS I TO KEN ? 


159 


save a fellow Christian from imprison- 
ment and death, at the hands of popish 
persecutors,” she replied.. Donald was 
silent for a moment, then he asked, al- 
most fiercely : 

“How was I to ken that the puir laddies 
were two of God’s persecuted ones ? How 
was I to ken that ye were not a’ followers 
of the antichrist, idolators, saint and an- 
gel worshipers, and persecutors yoursel’s? 
Donald Grant is a hard-headed auld man, 
and sairly in need of the softening grace 
of God ; but think ye I could ha’ grudged 
the laddies a hame in the castle, if I had 
kenned?” 

“Thou didst never treat them unkindly,” 
put in Cornelia, soothingly, laying her hand 
upon the old servant’s arm. 

“Nay, that I did not,” answered Donald, 
grasping at this grain of comfort. “I am 
unco thankfu’ that I gave them each a 
bowl o’ my best parritch the day they 
went away, and they said it was guid, and 
they thankit me for it by the bright smiles 
o’ their bonny faces.” 

There were tears in the old man’s eyes, 


1 60 G ODFREY BRENZ. 

and he asked again, reproachfully, “How 
was I to ken?” 

Cornelia wept silently for some minutes, 
then, controlling her voice by a great effort, 
she said: 

“I ask thy pardon, Donald. I have 
made a mistake. I know now that I 
ought to have confided in thee at the out- 
set ; but treachery and violence have 
taught me a lesson of caution and sus- 
picion. The guests and servants of Reubel 
castle are all persons who need a place of 
refuge from the persecutions which Rome 
visits upon the followers of Christ. I have 
tried to make the house an asylum for 
all such hunted souls as I knew of. And 
now, Donald, thou knowest it all.” 

The two clasped hands in a silence that 
was more eloquent than words. 

“We must not be too much cast down 
over this sad news,” she went on. “The 
dear boys are safe and happy now, I 
trust, in a better place of refuge than this 
world could offer, and there is much yet 
for us to do. We will join our efforts in 
the good work.” 


HOW WAS I TO KEN f 161 

* 

“Aye, aye!” answered the old servant, 
heartily. 

“The stranger who arrived to-night is a 
fugitive monk whom the ^inquisitors are 
seeking to put to death. He has just 
learned that Frederic and Karl were be- 
headed because they cut the ropes that 
the soldiers had used to tie him to a post, 
while they went for food and rest to an 
inn near by.” 

“Send him to my room, and bid him 
put on my best suit o’ claes!” exclaimed 
Oonald. “In the meantime, I will even 
prepare him somewhat to eat, for he looks 
sairly famished,” he concluded, as he hur- 
ried away. 

Now that all concealment was at an end 
between Cornelia and her uncle’s faithful 
attendant, the question presented itself 
forcibly to her mind, might she not be 
equally at fault in the course which she 
had pursued toward her uncle • himself? 
Her heart had misgiven her more than 
once in regard to the matter, and she had 
tried to sound the sentiments of her rela- 
tive upon the subject of the attitude of 
11 


162 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


the Romish church, toward the Reforma- 
tion, without committing herself to the 
expression of any opinion. 

She had sedh with unmistakable clear- 
ness that her uncle felt deeply whenever 
the topic was touched upon ; that he sup- 
pressed emotion and speech by a great 
effort. The complete metamorphosis which 
took place in his face and manner, on one 
of these occasions, had startled her. She 
trembled to think what the words might 
be which seemed to be struggling for 
utterance. * 

Having early lost both her parents, and 
having been separated for years from this, 
her nearest living relative, his home-com- 
ing had been most grateful to her heart, 
and the thought of alienation was very 
painful to contemplate. She thought that 
although she was using her own funds to 
meet expenses, yet it was her uncle’s roof 
beneath which she had gathered these 
people whom, perhaps, he hated. And 
so she had gone on from day to day, long- 
ing to know, yet fearing to learn. 

To-night, with the sad tidings which 


HOW WAS I TO KEN ? 1 63 

had come to the castle wounding her 
heart, and Donald’s unexpected tender- 
ness adding to her emotion, she hastily 
sought her uncle’s room, and sitting down 
on the hearth-rug beside his chair, she 
leaned her head against his knee, and 
wept as in her earlier years she had been 
wont to do when anything occurred to 
grieve her. 

She felt the touch of his hand upon 
her head, as in the old days that seemed 
so long ago, and then, between her sobs, 
she told him all. 

There was a little interval of silence in 
which nothing was heard but the ticking of 
the clock. Cornelia felt the trembling of 
the hand that rested on her head. She 
waited shrinkingly for some time before he 
spoke. At last he said : 

“And didst thou fear that thy old uncle 
might disapprove of thy work of mercy? 
Fie, fie, Cornelia. But know, my child, 
though I deserve no better opinion from 
thee, I have also entertained of thee some- 
what of evil thoughts. I had been told 
that thou wert a devout follower of the 


164 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


Christ, and I have marveled much how, in 
a time like this, thou couldest be content 
to surround thyself with guests and ser- 
vants, giving apparently little thought to 
the affairs of the King to whom thou dost 
profess allegiance. And lo, thou hast, by 
thy good works, put to shame the old man, 
sitting here from day to day brooding over 
his own doubts and sorrows.” 

Cornelia raised her head and looked in- 
to her uncle’s face. And then he told her 
in few words of the circumstances attend- 
ing the loss of his wife and child, and 
added : 

“The lads for whom the mother’s tears 
and thine are flowing to-night, have died 
as martyrs, and who can doubt their sal- 
vation? But I am haunted by a thought 
that I cannot banish, a thought that my 
son may be yet alive, and may be — who 
knows what? A lazy monk, caring for 
nothing but that he may have enough to 
eat and drink, and may keep his sluggish 
conscience at ease by babbling the pre- 
scribed number of prayers! He may be 
one of the multitude of iniquitous priests 


HOW WAS I TO KEN? 


165 

who, under the cover of sanctity, practice 
vice in all its hideousness! He may be 
among the persecutors against whom the 
curse of God is spoken ! Who knows 
what influences may have been brought 
to bear upon him in all these years. 
Alas, I am far enough away from the true 
life, but I thank God the blood of Chris- 
tians is not upon my hands! And the 
bare possibility that looms up in my 
thoughts is torture. If my son survived 
his infancy and childhood, I would rather 
know that his has been the fate of those 
two youths for whom the mother mourns 
to-night.” 

This was an alternative so sad that Cor- 
nelia could find no words of comfort and 
assurance. 

“True,” her uncle continued in a softer 
tone, “he may be a humble Christian, and 
one to take the heart captive like thy 
friend Godfrey, who was here some time 
ago, and who read the Bible to me so de- 
voutly, seeming to feel its words as if 
spoken audibly by God himself, that its 
messages set the old man to thinking 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


1 66 

upon these things with an earnestness 
which he had never felt before. I would 
he were here to-night. Methinks his 
very presence would afford strength and 
comfort to us all.” 

“I doubt not that it would,” answered 
Cornelia, sadly; “he is a mighty preacher 
of the truth, and would have proclaimed 
the gospel here at the castle, but for the 
mistaken discretion of thy foolish, faithless 
Cornelia. Uncle Ulric, canst thou ever 
forgive me?” 

“Aye, that I can,” replied the baron. “I 
am too sorely in need of pardon myself to 
make that a doubtful question. But, oh, 
if I only knew!” 

It was after midnight when Cornelia 
sought her room for a little rest. But 
there was no repose for her tired brain 
and tortured nerves. Her thoughts dwelt 
with painful persistence upon themes which 
she longed to forget for a little while. 

They seemed to be passing in slow pro- 
cession before her — the emaciated, sad- 
faced brother Reynold, who looked as he 
had done when he told of the noble youths 


II 0 W WAS 1 TO KEN? 


167 


who had paid with their lives for their brave 
devotion to himself; the stricken mother, 
like Rachel, weeping for her children; the 
young martyrs themselves, clothed in white 
robes, and with their fair hair stained with 
blood. Then Donald came with his pained 
face, and the expression of reproach in 
his eyes, and she seemed to hear him ask 
again, “How was I to ken?” There was 
her uncle, too, with his accustomed smile 
eclipsed by a look of sad uncertainty, 
and his voice sounded again in her ears, 
“Oh, if I only knew!” 

Still round and round they passed, the 
same forms and faces, mingled now and 
then with others whom she had known to 
suffer at the hands of Rome. Wider and 
wider grew the circle. Her dead father 
and mother joined the sad procession, 
with other well-remembered ones that 
seemed rising from the past, until she felt 
as if her reason was being dethroned, and 
arose to seek relief in action. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


BETRAYED. 

“And Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place: 
for Jesus ofttimes resorted thither with his disciples.” 

R EUBEL castle was indeed an asylum 
to all of the persecuted Christians of 
whom its mistress knew, and with whom 
she found it possible to communicate. 
Godfrey Brenz had found a refuge there 
when hunted like a criminal from his boy- 
hood’s home; and finding a Bible in the 
baron’s room had asked permission to 
read it aloud. 

These readings had proved the truth of 
the word itself, that it is “quick and pow- 
erful, and sharper than any two-edged 
sword.” No word of commentary or ex- 
hortation had been added ; but the read- 
ing of the prophecies concerning Christ, 
and the Messianic Psalms, so clearly ful- 
filled in the life of Jesus, had arrested 
the baron’s attention and aroused in him 
( 168 ) 


BETRAYED . 169 

an interest which was destined to be last- 
ing. 

But the former monk, after a short in- 
terval of rest, went forth again to carry 
the tidings to the regions beyond. We 
shall now see Godfrey and Henry Hurz 
again laboring together, to scatter the 
seeds of that truth which Rome was seek- 
ing so industriously to destroy. 

Having, in their wanderings, met once 
more at the house of a mutual friend, they 
arranged for a preaching tour in company, 
in the face of the danger which menaced 
their liberty, and even their lives. 

“If our fate is uncertain, and we may 
be called at any time to seal our testi- 
mony with our blood,” they said to each 
other, “all the greater reason that we 
should work while it is yet day.” 

This was the argument with which Rey- 
nold Weihl had also answered all solici- 
tations to remain at the castle when suf- 
ficiently recovered to go forth again. Un- 
known to his former friend, he too was 
laboring in the common cause. 

Forbidden to preach in the churches, 


170 G ODFREY BRENZ. 

these devoted men went from place to 
place, holding meetings in secluded spots, 
which were eagerly sought by those who 
were thirsting for the pure gospel, the 
stream of God’s word untainted by the 
addition of human error. A temporary 
pulpit was erected, and the preachers, by 
turns, lifted up the voice, proclaiming “the 
unsearchable riches of Christ,” not heed- 
ing the constant peril of having among 
their listeners some who would gladly be- 
tray them to their enemies. 

Our Saviour has asked of his professed 
disciples, “Are ye able to drink of the cup 
that I drink of, and to be baptized with the 
baptism that I am baptized with?” And 
some, who have answered confidently, 
“We are able,” have yet fallen away in 
time of persecution and tribulation. How 
would it be with these who thought that 
nothing could sever them from their alle- 
giance to their Master? 

The ranks of those who accepted the 
truth were steadily increasing. The work 
of persecution was itself attracting the 
people to the cause. A gospel, for which 


BETRAYED . 


171 

men were willing to suffer the loss of all 
things, even life itself, must possess an 
excellence unknown to them. 

There was also the sympathy which in- 
justice awakens for the oppressed. God 
uses many means for the accomplishment 
of his work. His instrumentalities for the 
furtherance of his purposes are oftentimes 
the most unlooked for. The persecutors 
themselves were brought, at times, to see 
the truth of the statement, that “the blood 
of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” 

It was said of the work of one of the 
most unscrupulously cruel inquisitors of 
this time: 

“Wherever Aleandro raises a pile, there 
he seems to have been sowing heretics.” 

But while the reactionary effects of the 
unholy war upon Christians was apparent 
to the clear-sighted, the fanatical fury of 
those who saw the slaves of ignorance and 
error escaping from their grasp, seemed 
only to burn the more fiercely. 

The former Augustine and Franciscan 
monks who were laboring together, were 
one day preaching not far from W urtberg, 


172 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


to a large crowd that had stealthily assem- 
bled from various directions. It was not 
unknown to the faithful workers that terri- 
ble punishment had been visited upon 
preachers of the gospel in this immediate 
neighborhood; but in nowise daunted by 
this knowledge, they spoke their message 
with great earnestness, not abating a jot 
or tittle of the truth because of the peril 
of their situation. 

Godfrey preached from the words of the 
angel, before whom John ignorantly fell 
down to worship: “See thou do it not: I 
am thy fellow servant, and of thy brethren 
that have the testimony of Jesus: worship 
God.” 

He set forth plainly the folly and sin of 
saint and angel worship. He said: 

“If there can be shame and confusion 
of face in the court of heaven, it must be 
when the voices rise up from earth, bur - 1 
dened with the incense of praise, or praying 
for pardon, for help and strength, not to him 
who sits on the throne, swaying the sceptre 
of power over heaven and earth, but to 
the angels who are his servants ; to Mary, 


BETRAYED. 


173 


or Peter, or John, or any of all the saints, 
who themselves fall down and cast their 
crowns before him, crying, ‘Holy, holy, 
Lord God Almighty. Thou art worthy, 
for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us 
to God, by thy blood, out of every kin- 
dred and tongue, and people and nation!’ 
Twice in the book of Revelation, the last 
word which the Christ has caused to be 
written for our instruction, we read the 
plain rebuke recorded -by John as admin- 
istered to him by the angel, when, over- 
come by the wonderful visions which were 
shown him, he fell at the feet of his angelic 
conductor: ‘See thou do it not: for I am 
thy fellow servant, and of thy brethren 
the prophets, and of them which keep the 
sayings of this book: worship God.’ 

“But if we are forbidden to worship our 
fellow servants, whether saints or angels, 
and however great and good they may 
seem to our finite minds, what shall we say 
of the worship of images and relics? What 
shall we say of the idolatry of the mass? 
If sinless angels, and holy men, made in 
the image of God, are not proper objects 


174 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


of devotion, how can inanimate things be 
worthy of the homage of immortal souls? 
Let us listen to God himself as he speaks 
from Sinai: ‘Thou shalt worship the Lord 
thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.’ ” 

Among his listeners, the eyes of the 
speaker fell every now and then upon one 
whose face seemed associated with some 
past trial or peril, and instinctively sug- 
gested a new danger to be met. He was 
unable to recall clearly where he had met 
this man, who seemed to listen intently, 
yet impressed the preacher as one who was 
not present as a searcher after truth, but 
rather as an emissary of its bitterest oppo- 
nents. 

He was not mistaken. The sermon was 
scarcely finished when the reformers were 
both arrested, and hurried away to prison 
to answer to the charge of heresy. 

As Godfrey Brenz came face to face 
with the man whose countenance had 
suggested treachery, he recognized in a 
moment the priestly spy, who had on a 
former occasion invited him to his house, 
in order that he might betray him. 


BETRAYED. 175 

‘‘Ah, my friend, is it thus we meet 
again?” asked Godfrey, mildly. 

Whatever of resentment or reproach 
the informer might have expected, this 
question of his former guest appeared to 
cause him some confusion and embarrass- 
ment. He made no answer, and turned 
his eyes away from the speaker; but a 
flush crept over his face, which indicated 
to the mind of Godfrey that he was not yet 
past feeling. 

As for Godfrey, he remembered that 
even our Saviour could say: “He that eat- 
eth bread with me hath lifted up his heel 
against me.” And recalling the treachery 
of Judas who, having lived, and walked, 
and eaten with the Master day by day, 
could yet with a kiss betray him to his 
murderers, he did not deem it strange or 
unfitting that an act of treachery, much 
less despicable, should meet him as he 
sought to follow in that Master’s footsteps. 

The congregation fled, most of them es- 
caping arrest, but the faithful preachers, as 
has been said, were thrust into prison, and 
placed in separate cells. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE HONEST HOUR. 

“ But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be 
perfect and entire, wanting nothing.” 

T HE inmates of Reubel castle had not 
yet heard of the arrest and imprison- 
ment of Godfrey Brenz and his fellow 
laborer, nor did they know anything of 
the fate of Reynold Weihl subsequent to 
his departure from the refuge of the cas- 
tle. The hearts of all were still heavy 
with the thought of the cruel death of 
Frederic and Karl. 

The cold wind howling around the 
house, and sighing among the leafless 
trees, had a sadder sound to them than 
ever before. They heard of some who 
had been dragged from their homes in 
the night, and forced to walk to prison 
barefooted in the cold ; and the baron and 
his niece, sympathizing deeply with the 
sufferers, longed for power to shelter all 
( 176 ) 


THE HONEST HO UR. 1 7 7 

the Christians of Germany from their 
pitiless assailants. 

One evening an unknown messenger 
brought a letter for the baron, which he 
delivered to one of the servants, and went 
away as hurriedly as he had come. 

The recipient of the missive handed it 
to Cornelia, saying: 

‘‘Read it for me, my dear; these old 
eyes are growing worse and worse, me- 
thinks.” 

It will perhaps seem to the reader, as it 
did to Cornelia, a strange coincidence that 
a communication of such import, as will 
appear, should have been received so soon 
after the words spoken by the baron on 
the night of Cornelia’s confession. 

The thought that her uncle’s son might 
possibly be yet living was new and start- 
ling to her, but not to the one who had 
brooded over and dwelt upon the possi- 
bility, until it had become to his mind, not 
only a probability but almost a certainty. 

The writing of the letter was scarcely 
legible, but Cornelia’s quick eyes had 
soon deciphered enough of it to send the 
12 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


I?8 

blood to her heart, leaving a pallor on her 
face that her uncle quickly noticed. 

“Bad news, my child?” he questioned. 
“I know not, uncle Ulric,” she re- 
plied ; “prepare thyself for startling intelli- 
gence — listen.” 

The letter was as follows : 

To Baron Reubel, of Reubel Castle. 

The writer of these words has reached the time when all 
are honest ; when deception stands out in hideous propor- 
tions, and untruth seems a ghastly thing. 

Believe me, then — thou mayest have proof hereafter. In 
the year 1501, I was summoned by the priest to a certain 
house in the parish, and commanded to take charge of an 
infant whose mother had just died. I was adjured to bring 
the babe up as my son, to teach it faithfully when it came to 
years of knowledge, and never, on pain of the loss of its soul 
and my own, to reveal its parentage. I was assured that it 
was my duty as a good catholic to do this, because the child 
was born of heretical parents, and that its father, then ab- 
sent, would, if it should live, train it to be an enemy to God 
and the holy church. 

I accepted the trust unquestioningly ; and a woman, now 
dead, who was the only person present, beside the priest, 
wrapping the wailing infant in a costly shawl (which I was 
told to burn on reaching home), placed it in my arms, and I 
went out into the night with it alone. 

Having no children of our own, my husband and I soon 
grew to love the child most dearly, almost as dearly, I think, 
as if it had been our own. We prayed daily for the true 
father of our boy, and when, years after, we were blessed 
with a daughter, we gave that father’s name to her. 


THE HONEST HO UR. 1 79 

The latter lines were very faint and 
straggling, and concluded thus: 

I had intended to write much more, but my time is short, 
and my strength is failing. Your son is living still. You 
will have heard of him perhaps. I tried to be a true mother 
to him, but he has been a better son to me. I shall see him 
no more on earth. I send the little girl to you. You will 
know her by the name, and perhaps may recognize the shawl 
she wears. Oh, be kind to her for the sake — 

The letter ended abruptly without a 
signature, and left the mind of the baron 
in a state of suspense that was keenest 
torture. 

Day after day passed and no futher in- 
telligence was received from the mysteri- 
ous correspondent. If the baron’s thoughts 
upon this subject had troubled him before, 
what were his feelings now? Who, and 
what was this son who was still alive? He 
had no means of conjecture, except from 
the meager statement that he had been 
a good son to his foster-mother. Her 
confession indicated a regard for truth, 
when near the hour of her death, as she 
supposed; but ah, how little of comfort 
and assurance could be gleaned from all 
that she had written ! 


1 80 GODFREY BRENZ. 

Cornelia exerted herself to the utmost 
to keep up her uncle’s courage. Donald 
wondered what had completely taken 
away the master’s appetite, and tried in 
vain to devise some new dish that could 
tempt his palate. 

If the recipient of the message which, 
ending thus, was but a confirmation of his 
fears, could have left his room and en- 
gaged in vigorous action, or even paced 
the floor of his chamber, he felt that the 
relief would have been great; but to be 
compelled to sit motionless and wait, wait, 
day after day, and lie down at night to 
troubled sleep and dreams that brought 
either pain or joy which the awakening 
contradicted — ah, this was trial indeed. 

To say that Cornelia sympathized deeply 
with her uncle in this extremity, would but 
feebly express her state of mind. Her 
suffering was scarcely less than his. 

Elise Schubert had learned that another 
guest, a little girl, was expected, and that 
as the time went by, and she failed to 
make her appearance, the disappointment 
grew still greater. She watched the ap- 


THE HONEST HOUR 


1 8 1 

proach to the castle unceasingly, when she 
could get a spare minute from the tasks 
assigned her, and wondered who the little 
girl could be, whose failure to come caused 
the baron such evident uneasiness. 

But great as was his disappointment 
and suspense, this man who, listening to 
the reading of God’s word, had been 
brought to see his own unworthiness, and 
to indulge a hope in the forgiveness of 
his sins, strove earnestly to feel sub- 
missive, and to bear bravely, and even 
cheerfully, this ^culmination, as it seemed 
to him, of the burden of years. His efforts 
to be resigned and patient brought the 
tears afresh to Cornelia’s eyes, and she 
was frequently obliged to make an errand 
from the room, in order to indulge her 
weeping, and bathe her eyes before re- 
turning. On one of these occasions she 
met Donald face to face, and when he 
said: 

“My leddy, will ye not tell the auld 
man why ye greet sae sairly?” she could 
only sob, and answer: 

“Wait, Donald, I cannot explain it all 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


182 

now, but we are looking for a little girl 
who does not come.” 

“Then I will even go and bring the 
bairn,” said Donald, ready at a word to 
face the terrors of Rome, as he expected 
to be called upon to do. 

“Alas, we know not where to look for 
her!” answered Cornelia. “We can only 
wait and strive to be patient.” 

Another week went by, and despite the 
fact that there was absolutely no clue to 
the whereabouts of the child, in the letter 
which had been received, .Cornelia herself 
set out to search for her. 

Having confided'in her friend Charlotte 
Gunther, she had been told of a little girl, 
the daughter of a widow living some eight 
or ten miles from the castle, who, it was 
thought, might possibly prove the one 
whose coming was to confirm the revela- 
tion which had been made. It was feared 
that force was being made use of to pre- 
vent the consummation of the mother’s 
plan. And so it was decided between 
the two that they should visit the house in 
which the widow had formerly lived. 


THE HONEST HOUR. 


183 

“My dear Charlotte,” said Cornelia, 
when they were fairly started on their 
journey, “if thy premonitions prove but 
true, and we are successful, our debt of 
gratitude to thee will be an endless one.” 

“Nay, my friend,” replied the other, “I 
will have but canceled an iota of the debt 
which I owe to thee ! But truly this wom- 
an of whom I have' told thee, seemeth 
to me such an one as might have been the 
author of the baron’s letter. When I saw 
her last she was carrying food to three 
children whose parents had been taken 
from them by the plague. She looked 
pale and suffering. She came into the 
room holding her crutch with one hand — 
for she was very lame — and carrying the 
basket in the other. The priest, who 
came to the house just as she was leaving, 
told me that she had gone fearlessly among 
the people when the pestilence was at its 
height, ministering like an angel to the 
sufferers, and had shared her little all with 
the helpless survivors. He told me where 
she lived, and I am sure that I can find 
the place.” 


1 84 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


On reaching the end of the journey, 
there was indeed no difficulty in finding 
the humble home that had been pointed 
out as that of “lame Mary,” and the little 
girl whom the two had come to seek, herself 
came forward and invited them to enter. 

“The mother is suffering to-day much 
more than usual,” she said, and then she 
went softly into the adjoining room, re- 
turning presently, to say: 

“The ladies will please go to the 
mother in her room.” 

They went, and found her very pale, and 
with the lines of suffering plainly written 
on her face, yet smiling, notwithstanding. 
She seemed very grateful for the sympa- 
thy which they expressed, and explained 
that her foot had been broken by the fall- 
ing of a stone upon it, and that subsequent 
neglect had greatly increased the injury. 

“Yet I do not grudge the work that I 
was doing when the accident befel me,” 
she added, with the smile that was so 
transfiguring. “I was aiding two of God’s 
servants to escape from unjust imprison- 
ment, and perhaps torture and death. 


THE HONEST HOUR. 


185 

Think you not I may well bear it pa- 
tiently?” she asked. “Besides, I shall be 
better by and by, I have no doubt, and so be 
able to go on my way again. I hope so, truly, 
for there is work waiting for me to do.” 

She seemed to know instinctively that 
she was in the presence of friends. Cor- 
nelia and Charlotte were deeply interested 
in this cheerful sufferer, who was con- 
cerned for other’s sorrows rather than her 
own pain, and talked so tenderly of the 
children who had been made orphans by 
the plague. 

While making no allusion to the object 
of their call, the visitors learned unques- 
tioningly that this woman was not the 
writer of the anonymous letter received 
by the baron. They gave her gold for 
the treatment of her injury and the suste- 
nance of the orphans under her care, and 
kissing her saintly face, and that of the 
little girl who conducted them to the door, 
they took their departure, the object of 
their journey unattained, yet thankful for 
having met this humble, Christlike fol- 
lower of the Master. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE LITTLE DUCHESS. 

“ For this my son was dead, and is alive again.” 



ORNELIA and her friend had not 


^ revealed the object of their journey, 
for fear that it might end in keener disap- 
pointment; but Elise Schubert, at least, 
divined the secret, and with straining eyes 
watched long for their return. The child 
had learned to feel almost unbounded 
faith in the ability of her former friend of 
Freiberg castle, and when the failure to 
bring home the child was too plain for 
longer doubt, she was compelled to hide 
herself for a time, in order that her dis- 
tress might not add to that of her friends. 

However, she did not cease to watch. 
Each new day brought new hope. Yes- 
terday’s disappointment was brightened 
by the expectation of to-day. 

One evening, as the shadows were fall- 
ing among the valleys between the dis- 


( 186 ) 


THE LITTLE DUCHESS. 


1 87 

tant mountains, and the sun’s last bright 
beams were resting on their tops, Elise, 
from her high post of observation, saw a 
horse come slowly up the rocky way to 
the castle; in and out among the great 
trees bordering the road; now seen, and 
then disappearing altogether for a time. 

She hoped against hope that the tired 
beast might be bringing ‘‘the little duch- 
ess,” as in her childish fancy she had 
grown to call the expected guest. She 
had been disappointed so many times 
that she did not feel so confident as she 
had sometimes felt, that the child was 
really coming now ; yet, youth is sanguine, 
and the spirits soon rebound from disap- 
pointment. 

Watching with eager eyes, she saw 
presently that the rider was a woman. 
The trees again intervened for a mo- 
ment, and then, what did it mean? the 
horse was turned back, and went slowly 
down the descent. Alas, was this only 
another destruction of the castle of her 
hopes that had so often fallen? No, she 
could scarcely trust her eyes, yet surely 


1 88 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


there was — yes, she could not be mis- 
taken, a strange little figure making its 
way directly toward the castle. 

Elise bounded down the stairs, at the 
imminent risk of falling headlong, and 
exclaimed : 

“Ach, mein herr Donald!” and then 
recalling the little English which she had 
mastered since coming to Reubel, she 
said, “She is come, she is come! Please 
open for her the gate!” 

The old servant, scarcely less excited 
than his young friend, hastened to comply 
with her request; and the small stranger 
was not a little surprised, when the larger 
girl grasped her up in her strong, young 
arms, and ran with her into the castle. 

If this was indeed the one so earnestly 
looked for, her final coming was as yet 
unknown to those most vitally concerned. 
Baron Reubel and his niece were sitting 
alone before the fire, into which both were 
looking silently. No sound was heard, 
except the clock and the crackling of the 
burning logs. The firelight danced and 
flickered faintly on the wall at one side 


THE LITTLE DUCHESS. 


189 

of the room, while on the other a bar of 
golden sunlight lay like a benediction of 
the departing day. The door opened 
softly, and Elise came in, leading a child 
several years younger than herself, whose 1 
coarse shoes and quaint, home-made little 
cap, were in marked contrast with the ele- 
gant silk shawl that concealed the rest of 
her attire. She approached the baron 
fearlessly, and stood just where the bar 
of sunlight was falling. Making a de- 
mure courtesy, she laid her hand upon 
his knee. 

“I am Ulrica Brenz,” she said, simply. 
“Just before my mother died, she bade 
me come and tell you my name, and say 
that all she wrote to you was truth, as she 
hoped for God’s mercy. She talked much 
of my brother Godfrey ; but I cannot re- 
member all she said. She was not kind 
to him when first he came home from the 
convent; but again he came to see us, 
after we had been in the prison, and the 
mother was very glad to see him, and he 
told her words that seemed to make her 
almost well again. But yet she died, as 


1 90 G ODFREY BRENZ. 

my father had before; and the last time 
she talked to me she tAld me that God- 
frey is not to be my brother now, but I do 
not want to have it so,” continued the 
child, with a pathetic quaver in her voice. 
“He has been a kind brother to me; he 
is good, oh, so very good, and I know not 
why I should lose him, too, now that the 
mother is gone. I have not seen him for 
long, oh, very long, but I have prayed 
every day that he may come again.” 

“We will still pray that he may come 
again, and when he comes, he shall be thy 
brother still,” said the baron, in a choking 
voice. Reaching out a trembling hand, 
he laid it caressingly on the little girl’s 
shoulder. Part of the caress was for the 
child, who had brought the message SO' 
fraught with blessing, and part of it was 
for the beautiful silken folds, a well-re- 
membered gift of royalty, worn by the 
wife of his youth. 

Cornelia and Elise slipped softly from 
the room, the latter not understanding all 
that she had heard, but touched by the 
baron’s evident emotion, and longing to 


THE LITTLE D UCHESS. 1 9 1 

tell the good news of the child’s arrival to 
all who did not know of it. 

When, after a little while, Cornelia re- 
entered the room, she found the little 
Ulrica, divested of her cap and shawl, 
sitting on the baron’s knee, and looking 
up into his face confidingly, as he talked 
to her of Godfrey. 

“But will his name be no more Godfrey 
Brenz, as my mother thought?” asked the 
child, wistfully. 

“Yes, his name will still be Godfrey 
Brenz,” was the reassuring answer, — 
“ Godfrey Brenz Reubel .” 

The little girl nodded her head in smil- 
ing content. Ulrica’s- small problems 
were solved to her satisfaction. The 
future was gilded for her with the hope 
that glows undimmed for childhood, a 
hope that of all earthly hopes is nearest 
to the joy of full, inalienable possession, 
the joy that fears no reverses, and belongs 
only to the life that is to be. 

There was a deep solemnity overshad- 
owing the joy that had come to this father, 
whom uncertainty had so long tortured. 


192 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


He had once felt that if he could but 
know that his son had died in the inno- 
cency of childhood, or that he had grown 
to adult years, a true, God-fearing man; 
if he even knew that he was one of the 
persecuted, rather than numbered with 
the persecutors, he could be content. 

But, ah, to-night, with the evidence be- 
fore him, that the young Christian, whose 
face and voice had appealed to him so 
strongly as he had read the word, was 
really his long lost son, with a full reali- 
zation of his peril, unknowing what might 
be in store for him, he felt a deep, deep 
yearning to clasp him in his arms, to see 
his face and hear his voice once more. 
And what to-night was the situation of 
this one, who, all unknown to himself, was 
the object of such deep solicitude, such 
longing love, such earnest prayers? 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE LAST CONFESSION. 

“ Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with 
God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” 

I T was the night before the great Auto- 
da-fe at Wurtburg, at which a number 
of Christians, called heretics, were to be 
burned, together with a large collection 
of books, including many copies of the 
German New Testament. 

Godfrey had been visited in his cell 
more than once since his imprisonment, 
and urged to recant and accept the doc- 
trine of papal supremacy, the power of 
the priests to forgive sin, the existence of 
purgatory, and other errors which he had 
abjured in the early days of his enlighten- 
ment. All solicitations proving of no avail, 
he had been pronounced contumacious, 
and left to himself for a considerable 
period, under sentence of being burned 
for heresy. 

13 


( 193 ) 


i 9 4 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


To-night, with the thought of what the 
morrow was to bring, he was thankful to 
be alone with his God. He had slept 
some, but awaking, he spent several hours 
in sweet communion with the Master, in 
whose unveiled presence he expected so 
soon to appear. He confessed anew his 
sinfulness and utter unworthiness in the 
sight of God, and plead afresh the merits 
of that One, who alone has any merit for 
himself or others. The penitent could say, 
trustingly, “I know whom I have believed, 
and am persuaded that he is able to keep 
that which I have committed unto him.” 
He felt an unwonted peace and joy, and 
awaited the approach of the coming day 
with a feeling of solemn gladness. 

He had no means of reckoning the 
time, but he judged that it was not far 
past midnight, when he heard the key 
turning in the lock of his door. A mo- 
ment later, there entered his cell, with a 
lighted candle, the man to whom he felt 
that he owed his arrest and imprisonment. 
The man who, under the sacred guise of 
hospitality, had plotted to deliver him into 


THE LAST CONFESSION. 


195 


the hands of those who sought his life. The 
priest, now wearing his sacerdotal gar- 
ments, entered without speaking, and the 
prisoner awaited his approach without a 
word. 

There was a moment of embarrassed 
silence on the one side, and of calm as- 
surance on the other. At last the priest, 
after clearing his throat once or twice, 
said in a low tone: 

“My brother, I have been sent to thy 
cell to-night, with instructions to hear thy 
last confession; but I have indeed come 
to ask thee to receive instead, a confes- 
sion from my lips, and to declare my abso- 
lution, if thou canst. I have felt no peace 
of mind since the day when, under my 
own roof, thou didst proclaim to me God’s 
hatred of sin. Waking and sleeping, 
there have still echoed in my ears, those 
awful words, ‘The soul that sinneth, it 
shall die.’ I have sought with all my 
might to dispel the impression. I have 
presumptuously resolved to persist in my 
way of life, and trust to the pope’s indul- 
gence, that all may be well at last. I 


196 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


have hated thee tenfold for having dis- 
turbed my conscience. I have tracked 
thee from place to place, and denounced 
thee to those who I knew would rejoice 
at the opportunity of sending thee to the 
stake. It has been all in vain. I have 
heard it everywhere and all the time, as if 
it were the trumpet upon Sinai, waxing 
louder and louder, ‘The soul that sinneth, 
it shall die F I see my present state and 
my whole past life as one foul blot of sin, 
while I have dared to claim to forgive the 
sins of others. I see that my priesthood 
has been a hideous mockery in the sight 
of God; that I have sinned against the 
sheep over whom I have been placed as 
shepherd, and against the blood of Christ. 
I have led others astray. I have helped 
to bar the door of the kingdom of heaven. 
I know not whether there can be forgive- 
ness for such an one as I ; but I must tes- 
tify to the truth.” 

“Fear not, my brother,” answered God- 
frey, joyfully embracing hin^ “‘The 
word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and 
in thy heart: that is, the word of faith, 


THE LAST CONFESSION. 


197 


which we preach; that if thou shalt con- 
fess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and 
shalt believe in thine heart that God hath 
raised him from the dead, thou shalt be 
saved. For with the heart man believeth 
unto righteousness; and with the mouth 
confession is made unto salvation/ God 
has said of the penitent, ‘Their sins and 
their iniquities will I remember no more/ 
Yes, brother, I declare thine absolution, 
not as a priest having power to forgive sin, 
but in the name of Christ who, continuing 
ever, ‘hath an unchangeable priesthood. 
Wherefore he is able also to save them to 
the uttermost that come unto God by him, 
seeing he ever liveth to make intercession 
for them/ Accept forgiveness, and know 
‘the peace which passeth all understand- 
ing/ And wilt thou confess the sinfulness 
and insufficiency of man, and proclaim the 
gospel of the grace of God?” he ques- 
tioned eagerly. 

The priest bowed assent, adding, “And 
what time, place and occasion so fitting 
as the Auto-da-fe , in the market place to- 
morrow?” 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


198 

He was removing his priest’s robe as 
he spoke, and now began to put it upon 
Godfrey. At first the latter did not un- 
derstand the meaning of this action, but 
the priest said, firmly : 

“I, Roderic Klein, have been instru- 
mental in effecting thy apprehension and 
imprisonment. I now release thee. Go 
in peace.” 

When Godfrey would have demurred, 
the other raised his hand with a gesture 
for silence, and continued, “Thou hast 
work yet to do. Go thou, and leave me 
in thy stead. It is but justice. Go, thou 
mayest easily pass undiscovered.” 

The former monk still hesitated, think- 
ing of the trial of his faith, which this new 
convert should encounter on the morrow. 
A look of deep pain came into the face 
of the priest. 

“Wilt thou not permit me to undo a 
little of the evil which I have wrought, be- 
fore I die?” he asked. 

“And know thou,” he went on, “that 
to sacrifice thyself is in nowise needful. 
Thou hast repeatedly given thy testimony 


THE LAST CONFESSION. 


I99 


in the face of death, if not in actual 
presence of the stake. I must do like- 
wise on the morrow. Fear not that I 
shall fall away. The peace of God, of 
which thou hast spoken, seems to fill my 
soul. The thunder tone of condemnation 
has changed to the still, small voice which 
whispers, ‘He is able to save to the utter- 
most.’ I am content. Besides, as thou 
thyself must be aware, if thou stayest 
here thou dost but add one more to the 
murders, with which the inquisitors are 
imbruing their hands. Wilt thou not go?” 

“I will go,” answered Godfrey. “May 
Christ himself be with thee. Fare thee 
well.” 

The two thus brought together by ways 
that they knew* not, clasped hands with 
fervent pressure, and then the door of the 
cell was opened, and the sleepy guard 
saw the white-robed figure passing down 
the corridor. The sound of his footsteps 
died away in the distance, and all was 
silence. 

The rescued one carried from that 
prison cell a heart in which conflicting 


200 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


emotions struggled for ascendency. He 
rejoiced over this new soul escaped from 
the fetters of sin, and entering, he doubt- 
ed not, upon the life of a disciple of 
Jesus. He thanked God for the genuine- 
ness that was apparent in the priest’s de- 
termination to confess Christ before men, 
in the face of a death like that which was 
before him. Yet he felt a deep sadness 
at the thought that this one would really 
die in his stead. He prayed with ago- 
nizing earnestness that he might be blest 
and strengthened, and given an abundant 
entrance into the kingdom of heaven. He 
prayed also for the one who had labored 
with him, and for that other one who had 
once shared with him the perils of impris- 
onment, and who, unknown to him, was 
in the cell next to that which he had lately 
quitted, awaiting the fiery trial of the 
coming day. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


UNTO DEATH. 

“And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What 
are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence 
came they ? . . . And he said unto me, These are they which 
came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, 
and made them white in the blood of the Lamb ” 

T HE day was ushered in with clouds 
that covered all the sky, as if the 
scenes about to be enacted were such as 
the sun refused to look upon. An early 
hour had been set for the ghastly work, 
but many living at a distance had left 
their homes in the nighttime, and long be- 
fore the hour appointed, a dense throng 
was assembled, and still the crowd in- 
creased. 

As the time passed, the deep solemn 
tones of the bell proclaimed that the hour 
approached. 

There had been extreme surprise, con- 
sternation and anger, when it was dis- 

( 201 ) 


202 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


covered that the priest who had been sent 
to Godfrey’s cell, had exchanged places 
with “the reprobate monk.” No effort 
had been made to reclaim him. The fact 
that he had set the prisoner at liberty 
was sufficient to seal his doom. How- 
ever, no threats or persuasions would 
have availed to shake the new-born faith 
of the converted priest. 

Barefooted, and clothed in the fantastic 
dress which was decreed to those doomed 
to death for “heresy,” Roderic Klein 
headed the procession of the condemned. 
Next came Henry Hurz. Godfrey, look- 
ing on amid the crowd that surged and 
swayed along the route of the march, be- 
held with eyes that were half blinded 
by tears, the brave, and even joyful, ex- 
pression which their countenances wore. 
Then followed one whose face was un- 
known to Godfrey, and last, with fearless 
tread, and a look of unmistakable rapture 
in his dark eyes, came — Reynold Weihl! 
Godfrey looked, and looked again. It was 
indeed he, the same, yet not the same, as 
he who at Heilberg convent trembled, in 


UNTO DEATH. 


203 


their common prison, over the prior’s 
threats of torture ; whom, faint and feeble- 
hearted, he had left behind him on the 
road near Hans Schubert’s cottage. 

As they neared the spot where Godfrey 
stood, the four doomed men began to chant 
the ninety-eighth Psalm, and the well-re- 
membered voice of Reynold swelled clear- 
est and loudest in the triumphant words. 

When it was ended, his voice took up 
another: “Make a joyful noise unto the 
Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with 
gladness: come before his presence with 
singing.” 

How often had the looker-on trembled 
for this brother, in the troublous times that 
attended and followed their escape from 
the monastery ! How often he had feared 
that the terrors of the rack and stake 
might overcome his faith! Yet here he 
was, walking to the pile without a tremor, 
jubilant at the prospect before him, going 
to his death with songs of gladness on 
his lips! 

When the four devoted men had been 
bound to their respective stakes, the in- 


204 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


quisitors demanded a recantation from 
each of them, but all in vain. 

“You can take our lives, let that suffice; 
seek not to imperil our souls,” said Rod- 
eric Klein. 

“Thou apostate, come back to the holy 
church before it is too late,” he was an- 
swered. “Thou hast forfeited thy life, but 
thou mayest save thy soul by retracting. 
Even yet thou mayest be forgiven thy 
sins.” A priest presented the crucifix. 

“Retract, retract,” urged the inquisi- 
tors. 

“I have nothing to retract,” he replied. 
“Christ himself has absolved me, I want 
no human pardons ; God only has power 
to forgive sin.” 

An equally futile effort was made with 
each of the others in succession, and the 
piles were arranged and lighted. Out 
from the flames and smoke, in chorus 
came the voice of singing: “God be mer- 
ciful unto us and bless us, and show us 
the light of his countenance, and be mer- 
ciful unto us.” 

One by one the voices faltered, as the 


UNTO DEATH. 


205 


suffocating flames rose higher and higher, 
hiding from view the faithful witnesses for 
Christ. There was a period of awful si- 
lence, and then a voice was heard saying, 
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, 
and in Jesus Christ his Son.” 

The spectators held their breath to lis- 
ten if aught else could come from the 
roaring fires before them, but the work 
was done ; the testimony was ended, and 
yet this statement is an error. Such tes- 
timony never ends. It is speaking in the 
world to-day. The voices of martyrs to 
the cause of Christ are never silenced. 

Suddenly from amidst the crowd of 
spectators some one was heard exclaiming 
in loud, clear tones, “He that overcometh 
shall inherit all things: and I will be his 
God and he shall be my son !” 

Rome had once more wreaked her ven- 
geance on the frail bodies of some whose 
spirits had escaped from her bondage ; but 
the act would only rebound against her. 
Where one had timidly accepted the truth 
declared by these men while alive, multi- 
tudes would fearlessly avow their faith in 


206 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


a religion which could thus sustain in the 
article of death. 

“It is more than the stubbornness of 
mere opinion,” said one, who had himself 
hated the heretics most heartily. “There 
is truly something about it all that I can- 
not understand. These men have all to 
lose and nothing to gain by embracing 
this doctrine of Luther’s. Why should 
they wish to be hunted from place to 
place like wild beasts, and burnt at last? 
This priest, for instance, had a fat bene- 
fice, and all things to his liking, I take it; 
why should he wish to turn heretic, and 
lose not only his living but his life? What 
was the secret influence that caused him 
to covet fire and fagot for his portion?” 

The man thus accosted, who was no 
other than Godfrey, answered him unhes- 
itatingly : 

“ ‘The natural man cannot understand 
the things of God, because they are spirit- 
ually discerned.’ My friend, the secret 
which thou dost enquire after is plain 
enough to those who know the Christ. 
Take knowledge of these men that they 


UNTO DEATH. 


207 


have been with Jesus. Call not their 
faith the doctrine of Luther. It is the 
doctrine of Christ himself, the doctrine 
that he came into the world to save sin- 
ners, and that ‘there is none other name 
under heaven given among men whereby 
we must be saved.’ ” 

The questioner, not a little surprised, 
turned and looked narrowly at his neigh- 
bor. Whatever answer he might have 
made was prevented. A part of the dis- 
persing crowd swept between these two 
and each went on his way. The seed that 
had been sown would bring forth fruit an 
hundred fold, though it might be known 
only to the Lord of the harvest. 

With subdued, yet thankful heart, 
Godfrey turned away from the scene 
of the sad, triumphant spectacle, beheld 
by so many on that eventful morn- 
ing, and threaded his way among the 
throngs of people who were now turn- 
ing homeward. 

He had witnessed the death of Henry 
Hurz and Reynold Weihl, and the new 
friend who had lately come into the holy 


208 


GODFREY BRENZ. 


brotherhood of Christ. He felt forsaken 
as to human companionship in the work 
for souls. He did not pause to analyze 
the feelings that swelled uppermost in his 
breast, but he recognized the fact that he 
felt an unutterable longing for “the rest 
that remaineth.” 

He would gird himself anew for the 
conflict in the days to come. His depres- 
sion to-day was but the natural result of 
what he had just witnessed. The Christ 
who is all-sufficient for the soul that clings 
to him by faith, is the same pitiful One who 
spoke the soft excuse for his disciples, 
“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh 
is weak.” 

With the hunger for rest and home in 
his heart, Godfrey recalled to mind the 
nearest approach to these which he had 
ever known on earth, and turned his 
footsteps toward the spot where, far be- 
yond the distant hills, and looking like a 
fortress on its height, stood the grey walls 
of Reubel castle. 


THE END. 






































































' • 





























































































































































































































* 




























































- 






















































, 














